


the earth watches the moon, but she's looking at the stars;

by reaperangelique



Series: mars may sell you kingdoms, but venus crowned me queen. [6]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Coming of Age, Consensual Infidelity, Developing Relationship, Drama, F/M, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Loss of Virginity, Love Triangles, Marriage, Multi, Multiple Relationships, Possibly Unrequited Love, Relationship Issues, Romance, Royalty, Sex, War, also sorta, different kinds of love and that kind of thing, frying pangle, i don't know okay it's a long long story, of various kinds, s o r t a
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 97,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12120360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperangelique/pseuds/reaperangelique
Summary: A life study of Austria, heart of an empire, and the kingdoms she loves; one she controlled, and one she never could.This is a winding tale, PruAus and AusHun primarily with a FryingPangle bent, and many historical settings from the 1400s up to the Soviet bloc. Not a story so much as a study in relationships when you happen to go to war with your partners on a regular basis, told in era snippets.





	1. when shall we three meet again? (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> please be very aware that this was conceptualised as a PruAus fic first and foremost, but there'll be a very liberal amount of AusHun and various side pairings will be touched on. secondly, while the prologue is quite tame, most further chapters will be sexually explicit. tags and ratings, etc, may be updated as necessary.
> 
> other than that, please have patience, this is quite the century-spanning story! but i promise a happy ending.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go way back, these three.

"So," said Hungary, a little winded; he sat down to catch his breath. On top of the Teutonic Order, who thrashed a bit, uselessly. "We've still got that gentlemen's agreement."

The Order slammed a bony fist into Hungary's arm, looking wretched about losing even the most inconsequential scrap. He thought it was bullying, an actual kingdom picking fights with him, a humble servant of Christ with bags under his eyes already from running here, there, anywhere a crusade was happening. Never mind that he'd slung the first insult and the first underhanded punch, also. 

"Gentleman's agreement, fuck," he said, "you give yourself _airs,_ you fucking sinner- you're not a gentleman, you're just a fucking barbarian raider who stopped for a fuckin' break- _ACH_ \- " 

Hungary's elbow was in his ribs. The other boy rubbed his arm where the Order had punched him, shifting around on top of him, like he didn't need to be able to walk after this. He must have been nearly six feet tall already, an unnatural giant compared to the Teutonic Order. It rankled. He definitely _wasn't_ stronger than the Order, he was just bigger and took unfair advantage of it. 

He gave up his struggle, shoving at that arm instead to relieve the pressure on his internal organs. "Get the fuck off me, Ungarn! You decadent horseriding son of a bitch- you fight like a fucking pagan- all dirty tricks, no _skill!!_ " His voice rose to an embarrassing shriek as Hungary gave him another good dig in the belly, half-painful and half-ticklish, before finally rolling off. 

"Christ, calm down," he said, lounging in the grass in his overly-fancy black tunic and tights, obviously revelling in the pocket change left over from whatever outrageous tax he was levying this year. The Order pulled himself up, grasping his sword belt defensively, perpetually twitchy. 

"Don't tell me to fuckin' calm down," he snarled, "I work myself to death every day to master the sword and defend Christendom for you, you pig, and you just fucking- ngh- you can't just shove me around! And don't take the Lord's name in fuckin' vain, what do I keep telling you, you vice-ridden fuck?! Mary, Mother of God- " 

"Are you listening to yourself?" 

"SHUT UP! Avarice- pride- lust, you horse-fucker- knocking down a holy knight of our Lord- " 

"Anyway," Hungary said, as the Teutonic Order turned the air blue in his cracking voice, "our agreement. About Lengyelország." 

The Order's invective ground to a slow halt, and he squinted across at Hungary. "Who?" 

" _Polonia,_ stupid." 

"Oh, her. Say so, then, _stupid._ " He wrapped his arms around his knees, rolling his eyes- reddish anyway, bloodshot redder still- in a ghoulish grimace. "What about it? I'm sick to death of you guys' swapping kings every five fuckin' seconds, what's happening now? I don't give a damn unless you pay up- " 

"I'm calling it off," Hungary interrupted, casually as you like, and the Teutonic Order gaped at him. "I want Ausztria- I mean, I want to go to war with Ausztria now, so- " 

The Order scrambled to his feet, eyebrows knit together with annoyance over his wide eyes, and they darkened his face considerably for being white-blond. "What in the good fucking name of God are you talking about? _Holy Rome_ , you mean, you fucking fool- that's my _patron,_ I'm not getting involved with that shit!" 

"What are you, chicken?" Hungary said, jumping up himself, though he quickly amended- "I wasn't asking you to get involved, I don't need _you_ to deal with _her_. I'm just telling you. You know. You're released from your duties." 

The Order spat irritably, brushing dirt from his formerly-white tunic. "Well, that's nice for you, I'll take my services elsewhere, good Christ. What do you want with her? You shouldn't be fucking with the Empire, it's like fucking with the Pope." He crossed himself, not appreciating the way Hungary rolled his eyes. 

"Well, she owes me money." 

"...Jesus." The Order made a face at this obvious pretext- he didn't like the idea of someone trying to oust the Emperor from his native seat, what if he died or _went broke,_ it might jeopardise the Knights' pocket money- but he was soon squinting again at what seemed to him a suspicious smile on Hungary's face. "...What's funny, hah? Out with it, penitent! What's it really about, hmm?!" 

Hungary shrugged, strolling ahead of the Order, his thumbs in his belt. "She double-crossed me, again. This has gone on long enough, I gotta teach her a lesson this time. She does whatever the hell she wants, being that kid's mouthpiece is going to her pretty little head." 

The tone of his voice was too... _ineffable_ to the Teutonic Order's ears, there was something about it that smacked of unholiness to him, and he made a disgusted face at Hungary's back. "Right...good fuckin' luck with that, _whatever_ you're after, you Godless fornicator." 

Hungary turned, hands behind his head, and he had a certain unwholesome gooey look on his face. "She is cute, though, isn't she? I mean, it's early days, but when she surrenders, I might see if she wants to- " 

"Shut the fuck up right now," barked the Order, jabbing a finger at him, a scarlet flush lighting up his white skin. He was pure, he wouldn't let this sort of filth abound in his presence, not until he'd experienced it for himself. Hungary was just showing off. "That is the most disgusting- the most fucking carnal shit I have ever heard- go to fucking church!" 

A bemused Hungary laughed at him. "You never heard anything more carnal than that? With that band of scum you call a knightly order- " 

"SHUT! UP!" The Order was making himself breathless with unnecessary rage, a front for the sheer sensitivity he seemed to be made of. It was his usual state, Hungary wasn't even fazed. "Pray for forgiveness and leave me out of your sick schemes, horse-fucker- and don't fuck things up for me- UGH, I'm leaving!" 

He made a big production of stomping away, but Hungary said, "Isn't she your sister or something, anyway?" 

The Order stopped short, angrily swinging around again. _"No._ The only family I acknowledge are the Brethren of the German House of Saint Mary in Je- " 

_"Right,_ right," Hungary shouted over him. "You came from the same place, didn't you?" 

"So?! I haven't seen much of her since...fucking...twelve-something...I don't know, she doesn't _deal_ with _commoners._ " The Order laughed gruffly, for the first time in a while. He could remember long, soft brown hair he loved to shove his hands in as a little child, and an _attitude_. 

"Well, if you saw her now," Hungary said, confidently, "you'd feel the same as me." He flopped down to the grass again, ripping a daisy from the ground to roll between his fingers as he gazed up at the blue sky. 

The Teutonic Order stared at him, and shook his head. 

"Not in a million fuckin' years, sinner." 

\----- 

"The King sends his regards to beautiful Ausztria," Hungary said, his eyes twinkling with mirth as much as his voice dripped with it, and he paced his agitated horse in quick circles, as casually as if he'd been born in the saddle. He kept looking at Austria, standing on a low balcony of her castle, where she felt slightly more dignified in the midst of this humiliating affair; she stared down at him with disdain. 

"This is abominable behaviour, _Magyar,_ " she said, with the air of one who is trying too hard to be stoic; her eyes traced the horse's swaying gait as it moved, ignoring Hungary's snort. "All this over a debt..." 

He smiled, eyes on the middle distance as his horse began to settle, his posture lazy and his hands hardly on the reins. "You reneged on more than your debts, cica. The crown lands are mine- " -he swung his horse around to face her- " -and now, so are _you._ " 

She didn't like the amusement on his face as he stared brazenly, folding her arms under her chest where her belt drew in her voluminous gown, black and brilliant gold, a red kirtle flashing where the neckline plunged down her front. She was _developing,_ perhaps with the aid of a sweet tooth, but he seemed to be doing a better job of it. Older in his appearance, somehow, she hadn't noticed when they were still young children, but it was obvious now- the breadth of his shoulders, thigh muscles bulging in hose like a second skin. His hair loose and long to frame the cut of his jaw, though he was still on the pretty side. She frowned at him, her lips twisting in a pout without her noticing. 

"What nonsense." She plucked stray hairs from her face as the wind rose, tucking them back into the looped braids each side of her face, and adjusting the glimmering nets that covered them. She hadn't dressed up for the occasion of being besieged. It was just the proper attire for her status. He was lucky she was even appearing before him, barbarous gatecrasher. "Your King hasn't the wherewithal to rule _you_ by himself, let alone Böhmen, let alone _me._ " 

"What's a pretender to the throne if he can't defend it?" Hungary said, his voice loud over hers as she finished speaking, an aggravating smugness suffusing it. 

"You watch your tongue," she snapped, her braids bouncing as she suddenly leaned on the balcony rail. "The Emperor won't submit to some barbarian lord and neither will I- " 

"I'm a barbarian lord, am I?" He laughed, and it wasn't entirely an unpleasant sound, even as it infuriated Austria. He rode a little closer, and he looked the part she'd given him, all pride and nobility with the look of a wild, nomad race, a prince of the backwater. "I don't think you've got a choice, duchess, but don't worry, I'm not looking to take a _barbarian queen._ " 

He paused, and she felt his eyes rake the soft lines of her face, her long neck. "And even if I was, you're not really..." 

She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward despite herself. "...Not really _what?_ " 

"Well," he said, folding his arms and tilting his head back, "not really a lady. More of a little girl. Wouldn't be any fun." 

Austria _bristled,_ instantly, and she knew he was hoping for her to explode, grinning as her chest swelled with outrage and her long fingers gripped the rail- and it was a very near thing- but she mastered herself, just _barely._

"That is a most impolite thing to say about little girls, coming from someone who still looks like one," she breathed, a tad shrill, but she relished the frown that suddenly clouded his smug face. "I give you and your pretender six months, Ungarn, now go away. You're spoiling my view- and you're not a _man,_ you know," she added, watching him gape with some satisfaction. "Don't put on airs." 

She turned on her heel, and he cursed at her in his strange, smoky tongue, forgetting himself; she heard his voice crack as she slammed her doors, and smiled. 

\----------------- 

He lasted a little longer than six months, but it was still rather a truncated affair. 

"Well, well, Ungarn," Austria was saying, and her voice was like honey- or, maybe it would have been, if she'd actually been the mature woman she fancied herself. Perhaps it was more like a sticky syrup, for now. "You were most valiant, when you impulsively and rudely marched into my house, and set yourself up here uninvited, but all good things must come to an end- " 

" _Don't give yourself airs,_ " Hungary spat, roughly shoving odds and ends into a sack. It wasn't as though she'd fairly fought or even _bought_ him off. She was sitting in the Emperor's throne- quite brazenly as if she belonged there, and he wondered at how spoiled she had been by her court- she was even sort of dangling her feet as she watched him pack his things. Make no mistake, some of _her_ things had made it into that sack, to spite her. 

He jammed an awkwardly-shaped shield in, then dropped it, turning to scowl at her. "If the only reason you can resist me is my _true King_ dropping dead, you can't give yourself credit, _felix Austria._ " 

Austria only raised a black eyebrow, her face delicately defined like an ink drawing on porcelain, terribly pretty. "Are you still repeating that silly line?" 

He snorted, looking away from her face; he'd seen too much of it and not enough during his time imposing on her in Vienna, she'd snubbed him when she could and prevented him from enjoying her looks at all costs when she couldn't, bringing him nothing but barbs and annoyance. "It won't catch on. No one'll want to marry a girl like you. My God, I can't wait to go home." 

"Oh, shut up. You should never have come here." She was regarding him rather coolly, he could see as he glanced at her uncomfortably, but there was something of a glitter in her eyes, soft and bright like distant blue mountains under the morning sky, veiled in mist- he really shouldn't have looked at them, what kind of idiot poetry had his King filled his head with? He realised she was still speaking, and what she said made his fists curl at his sides. 

"You should prepare yourself to submit, Ungarn. We have a claim to your crown, and we will pursue it." She smiled slightly, and it wasn't as appealing as it could have been, since it was at his expense. "That is how this marriage business pays off. You and I should arrange something. It will make the whole process more comfortable." 

Hungary sucked in a breath through his teeth, counting to five. "Over my dead body, duchess. You can have my crown when you earn it fair and square." He looked her over, small in her seat but full of presence. Another day, another dazzling dress, another bejewelled hairstyle. Trailing down her back and over her shoulders, today, like an allegorical painting, and not a proper lady. He supposed that was fair enough, considering. 

He turned back to the armour and treasures he was sifting through, muttering under his breath. "Mátyás, God damn you, you could have kept your shit together long enough to put your boy on the throne- " 

"Perhaps he ought to have taken better care of his health!" Damn her ears, and the trill of triumph in her voice she could obviously no longer contain. "I heard he took an Austrian mistress. Perhaps he spent too much time with her!" 

Well, yes, that was part of the whole problem, but not because- "...You think she worked him to death? I should stay away from you, huh?" 

"Don't _flatter_ yourself, Ungarn," she said nastily, up out of her seat now and prowling around near him, and he looked at her from the corner of his eye. Too short, too small in that voluminous dress- though she was pressing against the open neckline in an interesting way- there was a gangliness to her limbs, hard to see under the swamping fabric, but she moved like a colt. "I should only work you in the fields." 

"You wouldn't know how else to work me," he snorted, as the blush rose in her still-chubby cheeks. There was no way she'd done anything of the sort. She didn't like him to kiss her on the cheek, she'd never let him take her for a ride. He'd figured that out quick enough, refraining from any talk about his burgeoning experiences, in case she mustered a militia to punish him for his vulgarity. She was awfully _juvenile,_ he thought. It couldn't have anything to do with his seizure of her cities, obviously. 

"What would _you_ know, Magyar?" Austria snapped, her voice giving her away with its irritated tremble. She stepped up to him, though, a foot shorter and fearless. He couldn't decide if that was a liability or something to admire, proudly staring down bigger opponents when she couldn't fight worth a damn, and her childish fluster was written on her face. But there was something, something there, in her bearing- she wasn't _that_ juvenile- 

She suddenly grabbed something from the scattered belongings they'd both littered the place with, shoving it into his hand, and he blinked; a golden box, a shiny little trinket engraved with her Emperor's ridiculous monogram. He fumbled it open immediately, eyeing it all over like a child thief, though it was empty. "What- " 

"Take that, Ungarn- against my _debt,_ " she said, staring into his eyes like she owned him already, "and get out. I don't begrudge you something to barter for bread, if your King took your coffers to the grave with him. You needn't steal from me." 

She gave his sacks and chests a contemptuous look, amusement twisting her mouth. He hadn't hit her since they were small, it would be rude now, but by God- his arm twitched with his jaw, and she flinched back. 

"Go on, give me further pretext to subdue you under my rightful government," she said, a bit breathless and eyeing his hands warily, and now her single-mindedness really just made him laugh, out loud. Austria's confusion made her slightly adorable, and he couldn't help himself. 

Hungary leaned down, and kissed her lips, just for a second. She froze up, her eyes wide open, and her smack against his shoulder came belated and weak. 

"How dare you." 

"I'm not a beast," he said, good-humoured again, satisfied to see her bring her fingers to her lips with a puzzled frown on her face. "I control my temper- _out_ of battle...you should try it." 

"You are a beast," Austria said absently. "That was very rude." 

"Was that your first kiss?" 

"No. Shut up," she said, and he couldn't really tell if she was lying, but she usually was. "Go home, for God's sake. This place is a mess. How am I ever to master the lute with your rabble lingering?" 

Austria wandered away from him now, that puzzlement never leaving her soft voice, and Hungary smiled at the trail of her dress and the sway of her hair, hoisting some of his heavy burdens without effort. He fingered the little box- insult or not, he was definitely keeping it, at least until someone offered him a good price. 

"What does this _motto_ of yours mean, anyway, Ausztria? It's on everything in this Godforsaken castle." 

As if from a dream, she perked up, tossing her hair as she looked back at him. If he didn't know better, he'd call her mischievous. 

"Wouldn't you like to know," she said, proudly, before she swept from the room. 

He suspected she didn't know either, but that Something about her was there again, and it played on his mind all the way back to Buda. 

\----- 

The three of them met in Vienna, later, though no one had actually invited the Teutonic Order. But like a demon, if you mentioned his name, he wanted to be involved. 

He had tagged along with Hungary and Bohemia as they travelled to Austria, because Poland and Lithuania were not on cordial terms with him; in fact, Lithuania had thrown him bodily out of the carriage window as he tried to climb in. Hungary's brand-new carriage was better, anyway, though he didn't shut up about the technicalities of the design all the way, and when the Order lectured him about vanity, well, _that_ brought religion into it. He couldn't help himself from talking about all sorts of heretics, like Hussites, for example, and he'd had to let Hungary protect him from the dishonour of striking a woman when Bohemia tried to give him a black eye. That is, protect him from Bohemia. 

But in Vienna, there was a moritorium on all fighting, it was a _Congress,_ not a skirmish. Austria practically separated everyone in attendance as soon as they arrived, and she spared a long, narrow-eyed look at the Teutonic Order, ghastly white and black against the richness of her castle. 

"...Orden," she said, carefully; she hadn't seen him in years, he was getting tall now...or perhaps only compared to herself. He looked quite terrible, but she refrained from saying so. It wasn't that he was visibly injured, nor was his uniform unclean, but he looked transparent and bruised, dark shadows under his fearsome eyes. He stared, too, unnervingly, but she was nothing if not made of nerves. "May I ask...in what capacity are _you_ in attendance?" 

There was a pause as the Order looked her up and down, rich blue gown to rare blue eyes, as if he didn't know what exactly he was looking at. His social skills, she noted, had not been improved in the time she had let him run around out of her sight. Finally he jutted his jaw at her, looking her right in the eye. 

"What do you think, woman?" 

She held her gaze, cold now, and raised an eyebrow until he spoke further; Hungary was idling nearby, watching, and listening. "I'm here 'cause I'm on your agenda. Mediator," he added, mouth twitching. "I might have _grievances_ to bring to you and the kid already. Starting with that wild bitch over in the other room- " 

"I've nothing to say about your personal issues with Litauen," Austria interrupted, her voice rising with a subtle authority, "but I am your benefactor and you will address me as such." 

She'd been quite as sharp in Hungary's face before and never been overly concerned, and he was twice the weight of this pitiful boy, but then, he was a kingdom, and had some standards. The Teutonic Order did not, and he took an aggressive step towards her that forced her back before she could stop herself. 

"Yeah? I thought the Empire was my benefactor, what are you, just its bedwarmer? The hostess, right? You take care of all the _important_ guests when they spend the night," he said, in a rush of nasty amusement. "You should be seen and not heard, I'd say, if not whipped for speaking out of turn to a sword of Christ- " 

"I _am_ the Empire," she bit out, a snarl underlying her fluting voice and a red mottle staining her cheeks, nearly nose to nose with the Order and ready to hit his horrible grin off his face- but her eyes flashed to a point behind him, and then she smiled almost as horribly. Hungary had heaved himself off the wall, and he cracked his knuckles behind the Order's head before he grabbed the boy's collar and virtually garotted him with it. 

" _Simmer. Down,_ " he hissed, dragging the Order backwards, ignorant to choking and cursing. "You're only here by the grace of _the Empire,_ I'm sure she'd just as soon send you back to His Holiness with her regards, hmm?" He looked at Austria, who was adjusting her elaborate headdress, and the Order clawed at the powerful arms holding his neck. 

"I could certainly arrange for him to be transported to Rome- " 

" _She's not the fucking Empire-_ " 

" -with an armed retinue, and a letter from the Emperor- " 

"GET OFF ME- _shut up!!_ Ngh- you fucking- _infidels_ \- don't you _dare!!_ " 

"...explaining entirely his crimes, primarily entering my lands without any sort of permission- " 

"Jesus!!" The Teutonic Order was purple and spluttering now, his voice a strangled scream, and Hungary finally relaxed his grip. "ALRIGHT, already, fucking hell!! I thought you two fucking _beasts_ were at war with each other- get off!" 

"We're making nice," Hungary said simply, not letting the Order go so much as shoving him down into a chair, where he pulled at his own collar and made terrible faces. "So be nice," he went on, and then lowering his voice in the Order's ear, "or I'll send you back to the Pope in a fucking box." 

The Teutonic Order bared his white teeth in a grimace, but he flung himself against the back of the chair, drawing his legs up into it to fume and sulk. Austria waited a moment to make sure he was quite finished, then promptly ignored him. 

"If I may return to the actual matter at hand, Ungarn, we must speak with Böhmen..." 

"...Right." Hungary tidied his sleeves and the front of his doublet, as though remembering to be decent; he had come a long way, in Austria's estimation. Things were much more agreeable when he saw them her way. This succession agreement was a very nice start, and he'd soon see the benefit of wedding his heirs to hers- no more usurpation, nor fickle nobility getting their way, no war between them...in exchange for nothing more than a promise that he would join her under the auspices of the Emperor, _if_ he ever happened to find himself without an heir. So there was no pressure, of course. 

Admittedly, he still looked slightly wary when she gestured for him to follow her. After a pause, though, he offered her his elbow, and she took it graciously. They left the Teutonic Order, sullen and perhaps pretending they did not exist, heading across the long antechamber to a door left ajar, where raised voices already filtered through. 

"Spanien sends her regards to the affianced," Austria murmured along the way, eyes on the flagstones. Hungary looked down at her, his gait slow to let her keep up. 

"They are _her_ heirs, as well, aren't they," he said, light in his acknowledgement; where Austria held his arm, her ring flashed yellow-gold against his dark shirtsleeves. The children of his house were technically Poland's, by that logic, but it was pointless to try and contemplate the amazing way humans seemed to breed. 

Austria hummed a non-response, her fingers absently drumming his arm, that ring a touch heavy on her finger still. "Quite a fascinating situation. Do you have any...I don't know, strange Hungarian preferences for the festivities...?" 

Hungary gave a little laugh in his throat, almost sarcastic; he reached the door now with a long stride, and detached himself to open it for her. "I wouldn't want to interfere with the Habsburg tradition. You're the expert on that kind of thing." 

And he paused strangely at the door, tilting his head and looking at her, really looking, as if she was someone she hadn't been twenty years ago. 

She looked up, all eyelashes, stepping close to the door, where he happened to be. She hadn't let him kiss her again yet, and it wouldn't really be proper anymore. "Of course. Even I am married now." 

Hungary smiled slowly, not quite mocking, not quite wistful. "Sort of." 

"Sort of." Austria mimicked him, because he wasn't really wrong. Perhaps, then, there were loopholes in propriety? No one within the adjacent chamber would see from this angle, and there were no windows here to spy from, no one to scold her- 

" _Sinners._ " 

Except the Order of the German Brothers of the House of Saint Mary in Jerusalem, uninvited, unpleasant and unbearable, watching them from around a corner with a bitter sort of grin. 

"I see you still move like a rat, Orden." Austria drew herself up with dignity, because she hadn't actually done a thing. Hungary rolled his eyes- she couldn't tell what he _would_ have done, sans interruption, and she watched him shake his head and stroll into the great hall like- like an adult leaving children behind. She was suddenly filled with a rejection of all supposed progress he had made. 

Behind her, the Order laughed, like a crow with a sore throat. "You still look like one, little princess. A fat-cheeked furry rat living richly off the profits of vice- hah!" 

She slapped at him, and he pinched her, and snarling at each other, they raced through the doors, in a painful flurry of elbows. It was just as well for everyone that her new spouse was a woman, and a distant one at that; she really couldn't abide _boys,_ and the closer people were, the more _insufferable_ they seemed to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this prologue is set from about 1480 to 1500. most of the history stuff explains itself, but the Teutonic Order has basically made a living out of terrorising Lithuania, and Bohemia (Czechia) has a history of religious Problems, which will be very relevant in the next chapter...


	2. the government of a woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Austria flirts with her underling and insists to herself that her marriage is normal, despite the growing number of people it seems to involve. Hungary experiences lust, mixed feelings and horse metaphors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1600s, early to mid (at least). super AusHun-ish. contains loss of physical virginity (for want of a better description) and infidelity and all that stuff.

Someone had once said that Hungarians would fight unto the death of the last man, before they would submit to the government of a woman. The evidence to back up such a boast was thin on the ground these days, Austria had to say, but perhaps working with her horses was a subtle defiance in Hungary's mind. Not a manservant, but an expert equestrian, of course.

In winter, he worked in the stables of her riding school. She had taken to strolling down from her house to observe him- her personal house, in the grounds of the Hofburg complex, granted to her by the Emperor on their hasty return from Prague. _Prague,_ of all places. Bohemia had been a nightmare, and, well, she was still a nightmare. Perhaps it was something of an apology from his Majesty, giving her a very fine little set of apartments, for her to use at her leisure. 

Given the _circumstances,_ however, she was short on visitors; Spain came and went, always _gallivanting_ somewhere or other, and the child Empire so often insisted on shadowing important figures, interfering in affairs Austria assured him _she_ would handle- that is, when he wasn't shadowing Italy. Austria could not stand to have such juvenile antics in her very grown-up home, banishing them to play elsewhere, if they must. 

It left her residence somewhat empty compared to the heart of the castle, notwithstanding the servants and vagrant aristocrats littering the place. She enjoyed solitude, alone with her harpsichord- as long as she was still waited upon, and approached for her opinion, and sent gifts, and so on. When there was a lull in even those distractions, she would follow the sound of _neighing_ , and there he usually was. 

Hungary didn't live with her, exactly, he had business of his own, in all his fractured territory. But she requested that he stay with her some of the time- so that she could _govern_ him properly- and so he did. And had done, for some time now, ever since she'd come to his rescue- a little too late to actually save him, but just in time to claim her rights to his crown, and so preserve the Kingdom of Hungary for Christendom, and the Empire. 

He seemed to make do with the situation, though she wasn't sure he was entirely happy. It wasn't her concern, unless he ever had a mind to ally with the hated Turk, but he stood with her against Bohemia's nonsense, for now. She did wonder, whenever she saw him grooming her fine horses, if he resented her rule; but then it wasn't _her_ fault he'd dismantled his own army. Certainly the events, while driving them closer, had cooled things between them, if they had ever been warming to begin with. Or perhaps it was her preoccupation for much of the past century with her wife- the complexities of the vast empire they held between them, and the romance she'd finally submitted to, and become consumed by, in her way. Hungary could not catch her eye, not while Spain was in Vienna. Mostly in Austria's bedroom, admittedly, which was not the sort of courtly devotion she'd once been expecting, but it was devotion of a sort, and it felt like love. 

It also felt somewhat like abandonment when Spain went off and wantonly started up some sort of _union_ with Portugal, and Austria was still feeling sour about it. Lonely was a word she would never apply to herself, but she craved company and attention, of a sort it was probably inappropriate to seek outside the marriage bed. So she took to watching Hungary, keeping her distance, and going on her way if he ever noticed, as if she was simply on a walk. 

And in the summer, if he ever happened to be indecently attired, in the midst of his hot and tiring work, well. That was a harmless diversion for her. 

Or not. 

It was a warm day in Vienna, the sort of cloudy, humid weather that makes people irritable and starts peasant revolts, if you're not careful. Austria left her officials in a barely-restrained huff, tugging on the lace ruff that choked her and mulling over the same bad news as yesterday as she stalked across palace courtyards to her residence. She had a mind to pull all her stiff clothes off and lie about dramatically in her underthings, but the sound of hooves stopped her just outside her door; a passing groom, leading a chestnut stallion off to the gates. It put an idea in her head, and when she was sure no one was watching, she slipped away to call for a carriage. She housed her best horses outside the city during summer, and Hungary went with them. It was inconvenient, but she forgave him. 

Perhaps today she would interrupt him. They saw plenty of each other, in meetings, at dinner. But she usually let him work unmolested, it seemed the decent thing to do. She had _some_ respect for his autonomy, not wishing to paint herself his overseer. Today, though, she wanted to talk to someone who wasn't an ambassador or a duke or a priest, or an absent spouse, or an enemy. 

Austria was hardly built or dressed for the outdoors, and by the time she made her way across the fields, her skirts gathered in her arms, she was breathless. The sun had broken through, high in the sky by now; shielding her eyes, she could see him, outside the barn. Hungary was alone in the pasture, apart from a horse or two grazing behind him, and that was for the best, she thought. He seemed to prefer it that way, in any case. She'd always thought him more sociable than herself, but perhaps she was wrong. 

She paused when he noticed her, unmistakeable against the dry green fields in her dark court dress, but after a moment she collected her dignity and walked on to meet him, in a fashion a little more stately than strictly necessary. Whatever work he'd been doing- sunning himself, she thought- he stopped, and he leaned on the fence enclosing the paddock to greet her on her approach. 

"Szervusz, Auzstria," he said, far too genially for that servile greeting. Austria never could decide if she liked the lilt he often had in his voice, as if he was always humouring her. She thought he _might_ have lost it sometime during his sharp decline in prestige, but apparently it was in the blood. She paused, but she inclined her head to him slightly, out of courtesy. 

"Good day. Are you well?" It occurred to her that she hadn't come prepared with any particular conversation topic. She was also rather poor at making small talk. Hungary ought to have politely ignored that fact, but she could tell by his face he was incredulous at her question. Probably wondering if, and why, she cared, which was very rude of him. Of course she cared. A bit. 

"Not bad," he replied, though he added, "considering." His tone was friendly, his posture relaxed, loose shirt sleeves rolled up to show his tanned, broad forearms resting on the fence. Austria found her feet still moving, despite being quite close enough already, until she could lean on the fence herself if he wasn't in the way. He raised his eyebrows at her, almost imperceptibly, and she answered with a bold stare. 

"Are you not going to return the question?" she asked, archly- because she could make her voice _irritating_ too. He looked at her a moment, winter-green eyes making the summer fields look pale. Then he held his hands up, chuckling. 

"I'm sorry, that was rude. How _are_ you, Ausztria?" There was a terrible twinkle in his eye, his smile showing his teeth. "Glad to be home in Vienna?" 

Austria rolled her eyes, an elegant flick to the heavens and off to the distance of the pasture, where she observed one white stallion lazily swishing his tail. "At long last. If I never see Böhmen again I should be overjoyed." 

"I don't think you're going to be so lucky." 

"No, neither do I." She folded her arms, tapping her fingers against the black velvet of her sleeve; her ring caught the sunlight, as it always did, and she felt Hungary watching it, her eyes downcast. She could have taken it off on the way, but that might have been too obvious. But she wasn't concerned with it, she was busy finding the current discussion distinctly agonising. 

"You wouldn't want to be rid of her anyway, would you?" Hungary asked, though it was more of a statement; she gave him an exasperated look. 

"That is rather the _object_ of this entire situation, Ungarn, you know it well. I simply want her to behave." 

"Behave as you'd like." He rested his palms on the fence, easygoing still despite her sharp look. "Understandably, I mean. You did just narrowly avoid being thrown from the wi- " 

" _Yes,_ yes, thank you, Ungarn," Austria cut in, and she narrowed her eyes at him, he was hardly innocent in the entire debacle. "I would have preferred to return home under circumstances other than an attempted siege, however." 

He had the grace to look somewhat abashed, a hand coming to awkwardly push back the strands escaping his ponytail. "That was down to Erdély- it was complicated. A misunderstanding..." 

"You mean you were all _misled_ by that wayward child," she snorted, without a care for the fact that Bohemia was _older_ than her. "It is just as well I take the trouble to intercept letters, Ungarn, or we might have discovered how you actually felt about joining up with her." 

"Be fair," Hungary protested, pointedly not voicing an opinion on personal union with Bohemia, not now that she'd embarrassed him by running off to the Palatinate instead. "I'm...all over the place, right now." 

"Yes, well," Austria conceded, with a sniff- and without actually conceding in so many words, but she would let it drop, for now. They'd made peace again... _sort of._ It was things like this that made her bid him to work in her lands, where she could see him. 

It occurred to her that she should probably change the subject. 

"Do not concern yourself with it, in any case," she said, clasping her hands in front of her. "I shall deal with Böhmen in short order and you will not be troubled by her instigations any further." 

Hungary raised an eyebrow; someone else might have looked wary, but he never seemed to, exuding a sort of solidity from his tall, broad form. He'd grown to be a handsome man, powerfully built, but retaining some sort of elegance to his features that intrigued Austria. Still a wild prince, she thought, more than a farmer. _Equestrian,_ that is. "Oh? How?" 

Austria quirked her lips, in self-satisfaction more than amusement. "Spanien is coming home. To me- to Vienna, I should say." 

"I didn't realise she considered your court her home." He had a horrible way of saying things ever so pleasantly and neutrally, despite _obviously_ meaning something by it. Austria ignored him. 

"And she will be bringing an army with her, Ungarn." 

"...Ah, so that's how." 

She ignored the tone of his response, too. It wasn't as if suppression by force was her personal preference, but nothing else seemed to get through to anyone around her- _least_ of all Hungary himself. She hadn't come to discuss any of this, anyway, so she brushed off the front of her dress, as if she was brushing away the conversation. 

"Well, perhaps once we have settled this matter, we might move on to thinking about the eastern front again," she said, lightly. "That is, if Siebenbürgen does not object..." 

It was obvious in Hungary's expression that he was unable to give her words much weight, unwilling to suddenly swell with hope just because she'd vaguely alluded to ridding him of Ottoman occupation, eventually; she supposed it was entirely fair, she couldn't really promise anything, at that moment. They had signed a peace treaty, after all, with Transylvania's interference, and a good thing too- she could not have maintained her war against infidels in the east while she was punishing Protestants at home. But she fully intended to reclaim his lands in due course, she was completely honest in that, even if she was keeping it quiet. And there was something in his pensive face that seemed to _want_ to have faith in her; probably, she had to admit, some yearning that she might restore his wholeness, his autonomy, and that, she could promise even less. Hesitantly, she stepped closer again, and reached out to pat his hand where it rested on the fence. 

"I will liberate you, Ungarn. If we must wage war for a century." 

"Liberate me, hm?" His features shifted in an instant, to form a wry smile. He shook off heavy thoughts with the ease of a bird leaving the water, or so it seemed to Austria. Slowly, he slid his hand from beneath hers, his eyes on her face all the while, only to give her fingers a gentle squeeze. It was as if he was testing her reaction, in his gentle way. She looked down at their hands, and then offered him the merest answering twitch, gingerly quirking her lips at him. 

"Yes, I mean to defend our crown," she said, quietly, marvelling at the depth of his eyes. "From those who would separate us." 

"Really," Hungary said, his clear voice- not so deep as his stature suggested- softening, as if distracted. "That's very liberating." 

"I came to ask a favour of you, Ungarn," she pressed on, following an ill-advised urge to get to her point, even though there was no way she could actually say it out loud, it would be scandalous and humiliating. Fortunately Hungary seemed to be keeping pace with her train of thought- and she didn't contemplate _why_ too deeply, not wanting to think he'd been _waiting_ for her to stop staring and approach him. It had been too long since they'd last entertained _notions_ together, she had danced shy of his subtle invitations, and he, being a gentleman- of sorts- had never pressed the matter. And then she'd seized his crown, and, well. It was difficult. 

But he didn't seem to be all that put off. 

"What can I do for you, then, lady?" he asked, his mannerly tone not entirely a joke. In fact Austria would almost call it something else. Perhaps she was being seduced? That was plausible. If she was being seduced, then she was more or less absolved of responsiblity, wasn't she. That would be fine. 

"What would you do for me, if I allowed it?" she replied, a question for a question; she heard him cluck his tongue, knowing he found her verbal fencing a nuisance, and not feeling guilty for it whatsoever. 

"All right, all right," he said, holding his hands up, as if he'd been defeated, pressganged into giving her what she wanted without her having to ask. They hovered, those brown, callused hands, large and strong, before they gently took hold of her face. Wary, almost, as if he was afraid of her on some level. She found that amusing, although even her ego recognised it was wishful thinking, ludicrous. Then again, he'd seen her dress down Spain for taking liberties. He ought to be afraid. 

She was sure he was shaking with fear, inside, as he leaned down and kissed her, so she curled her fingers around his hands to reassure him. It was surprising, then, that he shook them off, encouraged perhaps a little too much, enough to grab her around the waist, despite the fence between them. A vague thought of dirt and wood splinters against the black velvet of her skirt entered her mind as she was pulled close, but she let herself forget, her hands on Hungary's chest, feeling a heat from him that seemed to overpower anything her body could ever produce. He smelled like- horses, honestly, and hay, but he tasted faintly of apples, and when Austria's eyes fluttered open briefly, she saw the discarded cores on the floor, and couldn't help a breath of laughter. 

Hungary pulled back from her, soft and with a smile, a strangely youthful redness in his cheeks. "Ausztria...what is it?" 

"Nothing," she said, impulsively touching his face. The colour of his skin wasn't so far from Spain's, after she'd been sailing on the open sea; he wore his hair in a tail like she did, too, and though her eyes seemed golden compared to his, they were in the same family of hues. But his jaw was so much wider, his features stronger, and he looked at her from such a height. She'd never been with a man, not a prince or a duke or a common servant, not even the musicians and painters she enjoyed the company of. She was hardly saving herself for anyone- she wasn't even sure if she was a maiden still or not, given the circumstance. But she found she hadn't had the nerve, or the desire, to entertain the advances of human men- perhaps she didn't trust them. And other male nations, well, they probably didn't trust her. She'd created a strange enclave for herself, with very few people in her confidences. 

Hungary had no cause to trust her and she ought to have held him at arm's length just the same, but they were wrapped around each other, somehow. Literally, now. It occurred to her, as Hungary embraced her and gazed at her, his lips gentle but absolutely certain on hers, that she trusted him while she was in his arms, even if she didn't quite trust him out of her sight. 

And another thing. She wanted him. The confirmation- her breasts straining against the stiff front of her dress as she pressed herself to him, her arms sliding around his neck and her pulse racing at the touch of his tongue- it startled her, they had only kissed briefly in the past, after all. And it scared her for some unfathomable reason. Aloofness wasn't the sole reason she rebuffed men; she was not as mature and worldly as she would have liked to think, and being safely married to another woman, she had put off the alarming idea of...well, she had heard stories of...the way court women spoke of the world, it...it was tempting and off-putting all at once. She _liked_ being bedded by her wife, and felt a womanly kinship with her at the same time. It was comfortable. Men were strange and had appalling tendencies, but they were attractive and that was troubling. 

It was probably all right, with Hungary, though. He pulled back again after a long moment, tucking strands of his hair back and doing the same for her, and she sighed at him. 

"Better than last time?" he asked, his fingers trailing her collar bone, just beneath the ruff she wore. 

"Last time?" Austria smiled, one side of her mouth barely raised; she wasn't particularly good at smiling, it always seemed to look mocking at best, if not smug. But that wasn't entirely inappropriate, perhaps. "I really don't remember." 

"I suppose it was a long time ago," Hungary conceded, laughing, husky and low. "I admit, Ausztria, I thought it wouldn't be so long. But you are a married woman." 

"I don't see the relevance of that," she said, and he raised his eyebrows. "You were hoping for my attention, were you?" 

"You just seemed so willing to give it," he teased, and she blushed, thinking of all the times he'd caught her looking. But then he sobered, almost bashful himself, she felt. "I...before everything went to hell back home, I would've...ah, you know, I was pretty stupid, as a kid. I was showing off, instead of being upfront- er..." 

He trailed off, embarrassed, at the sight of her smiling truer now. It felt good for the tables to turn. 

"I forgive your past transgressions and oversights, Ungarn," Austria said, magnanimously, and it made him laugh as she'd hoped. They kissed again, a kind of comfort in it, a relief, almost, and Austria supposed it was like breaking the ice. He was more fervent now, arms tight around her, and she responded readily, carried away; the fence was an obstacle, however, and she glanced down at it distractedly, breaking their connection as he caught on. 

"Where is the gate- ?" 

"Over..." She saw it, all the way on the other side of the paddock, how _dare_ it- "Don't worry, Ausztria, I can just- !" 

In his eagerness- to do _what,_ Austria was very curious- Hungary attempted to lift her and all her heavy skirts, right over the fence, and she decided to let him. She didn't help at all, though, an awkward dead weight and oblivious to the fact; by the time he'd heaved her up, a sudden call from the distance startled them both, and he nearly dropped her back to her feet. 

"Who- " 

" _Oh,_ Ungarn, it's my driver- p-put me down at once- " 

They parted reluctantly and in haste, she brushing her dress down and patting her hair, he tugging at his collar, retreating a safe distance from the fence. Austria dithered a moment, looking across the fields to the underling shielding his eyes from the sun, calling for her hesitantly; she glared at him, and though there was no way he could make out her expression from there, he seemed to quail. She sighed, and glanced back at Hungary. 

"May I visit again?" 

He brightened, and inclined his head, a sudden drift of wind catching his hair. "If it pleases you, lady. It's _your_ stable." 

"Oh, don't talk like a servant. I shall see you again. ...Farewell, then." 

"Bye," he said, leaning on the fence again with a wave. Austria lifted her skirts and bustled away across the field, barking at her waiting driver, but when she looked back, Hungary was watching her go, a soppy sort of smile lingering on his face. What a fool, she thought, and her cheeks were pink all the way home. 

\- 

He met her on the road, the next time, dressed a little more properly with his stylish doublet in place. He was still wealthy, possibly even wealthier than she was, Austria gathered. But she was given to dramatics in a way he wasn't, and her blue dress dazzled in the sun, the pale silk billowing and frothing with lace as she stepped from her carriage. Hungary bowed courteously, an eye on her servants like that of a wary dog, though with humour in his expression. 

"Retrieve me later, I wish to walk with my associate," she said, dismissively, and duly, the entourage scattered, to waste time however they saw fit out there in the countryside. She paused before Hungary, then held out her hand. He laughed at her, but he brought it to his lips. 

"Is that how you order all of Vienna around?" 

"Quiet." She took the arm he was offering, taking a moment to admire his slashed sleeves, the embroidery on the dark fabric- probably Italian. "And where will you take me, sir?" 

"I know a copse where no one will see us," he offered, his voice low, and for a second Austria blinked at him; then she made a disapproving- if not shocked- noise in her throat. 

" _Really,_ Ungarn- " 

"A joke- I'm joking, Ausztria," he cut in, laughing again at her sour face, but perhaps he noted the redness in the apples of her cheeks. She'd felt a brief impulse to go along with it, to let him take her to some secluded wood and do what he would, as if he was some faerie prince- before common sense descended on her and reminded her of _impracticalities._ And for a moment, she felt from his expression that he'd sensed it. He was a little vibrant about the face, and he fidgeted with his hair. "Sorry. ...We can walk through the trees there, though. I'm always worried you'll faint in the sun." 

Hungary gestured into the field beside them, one side of which was bordered with slender trees, loosely grouped. Austria surveyed them; they weren't so concealing as to let him get away with impropriety. A pity. 

"...Hmph. Then mind your behaviour, Ungarn." Austria lifted her chin, giving him that haughty look she'd so perfected, but her eyes twinkled, and she let him lead her to the gate with his own knowing smile in answer. 

The two of them strolled slowly across the field, despite the sun overhead, and conversation came to them more easily than Austria had anticipated. It had been a while since she had _really_ spoken with him, and she felt she'd forgotten the sort of easy charm he had, and his nice manners. Apart from the occasional blunt quip, that is, but she could allow him that. They spoke of their neighbours- Austria dismissing each one as recent slights came to mind- and of the lords and ladies, and whatever bad behaviour they were getting up to; they talked at length about a very fine stallion that Hungary had high hopes for, as they slipped between the trees, and Austria found she didn't need to feign attention. She avoided certain topics, of course- no Transylvania, no Ottoman, no Emperor, no Diet- and he paid her the same respect, no Bohemia, no religion...strangely, despite that she usually spent all day speaking of those things quite against her will, she was not at a loss for words without them. 

Under the trees, time ceased to intrude, the leaf-shadows obscuring the progress of the sun. Hungary- for all the deserved frustrations with her he had amassed- thought of her health before she did, and she was grateful for his slow pace, the care with which he steadied her and asked after her. Her dress was a lighter model, at least, and her boots solid enough beneath it, but her constitution never was made for hiking, and she paused frequently to listen to a bird or study a wild flower, catching her breath at the same time. Hungary never questioned it, his love for the outdoors and his patience both in abundance. Between them they strayed a little farther than they needed to, and Austria realised it when she glanced back, and could barely see the stables any longer; but she wasn't concerned, with Hungary there. He would never let her get lost, after all. 

It struck her then how they had changed in a hundred years, when he asked her if she wanted to turn back, and put his arm around her waist for support, and she shook her head with a smile. Perhaps he'd been humbled by his mistakes as much as she had taken advantage of them...somehow he'd grown, and not just in height and breadth. He could have been petty towards her, and he was not. It almost made her ashamed of her own opportunism, and _almost_ was more than anyone else had ever managed. He was _dependable,_ that was it. Steadfast. Not a wild thing any longer. Perhaps that was a little sad in its way, but she preferred a trustworthy man to a teasing boy, who probably would let her get lost- at least for a while. Even that boy had pulled her from the thicket eventually, she recalled, with a laugh. 

"Ausztria?" Hungary was looking down at her with amusement, and not a little concern, brushing her hair from her cheek without so much as a by-your-leave. "Are you feeling well?" 

"Why, Ungarn," she said, _teasing,_ "are you asking about my body or my mind?" She knew very well her laughter could be unsettling, that's why she kept a lid on it, until a choice moment to unsettle appeared. But sometimes it simply happened. Hungary grinned. 

"Your mind was my main concern, I have to admit," he said, scratching his cheek, "but your body looks fine- a-ah..." 

He ground to a halt as he realised his slip, and Austria felt her blush creep down her front to decorate her exposed décolletage, but she stood taller anyway, close against him with his hand still loose at the small of her back. 

"I don't recall you having seen my body, Ungarn," she said, lofty; it was a choice between lofty or mortified at her own audacity. Almost to her relief, Hungary recovered himself, a sly smile appearing. 

"I have to apologise, my lady, because I think I have- I seem to remember you wandering out on your balcony at night in your shift, and it started to rain- ooh, when was it, fifteen-twenty? Thirty? I was riding past, minding my business, and above me, there was an amazing sight- " 

"Oh, _really,_ " she gasped, half-laughing in disbelief- whether it was true or not (and you know, it _sounded_ familiar), his sudden wickedness was always startling, but at that moment, it was completely gratifying. She took him by the collar as if to rebuke him, and he wrapped both large, warm arms around her back and held her to himself, and before she could say anything more sophisticated, she had his tongue in her mouth. Which wasn't such an appealing thing to put into words, but it felt very acceptable. Very acceptable indeed. 

Somehow they wound up sitting in the grass, which she didn't much like for the sake of her dress, but Hungary, ever the gentleman, lifted her into his lap. In a pool of silk she drowned him, jewelled hair ornaments tinkling as they moved- there was an awful lot of _moving_ involved in kissing him, she found, the two of them over-eager to press as close as possible, always shifting in the attempt. It aroused a sense of- it _aroused_ her, that was the blatant truth, she was no innocent and wouldn't pretend otherwise. It made her nervous; her arousal could be left to simmer, but she wasn't at all sure about Hungary's, if in fact he had one. He was _Hungary,_ but he was still a _man._ And they did _things_ motivated entirely by their sense of lust, she was certain, without thought, care or morality- it was probably dangerous to writhe in his lap and arouse him so (she couldn't feel _the proof_ yet, not through her petticoats, but she was sure it was happening). Terribly dangerous, to break from his mouth with a soft noise of pleasure and press her lips against his ear and jaw to hear him mumble her name, sigh it. 

Well, if it came to it, she would probably just have to stab him with a sharp hairpin. That would probably do it. 

The thought flew from her mind as he tipped her on to her back, consideration for her dress apparently lost (she _knew_ he was aroused beyond sense), then hurriedly returned when he helped her skirts slip down her raised thigh to overflow at her waist, his hand a shock against her skin. That was too much, and she suddenly tensed like a board, trying to push herself up off the ground in a panic; mercifully, Hungary noticed. 

"It's all right," he gasped, his hand retreating to her knee, where her stocking was a thin barrier between them. He held himself carefully above her, not resting any part of his weight on her, his free hand reaching under her neck to support her as she struggled. Austria clutched at his arm, her grip stronger than one might expect, but she stopped trying to pull herself upright, looking at him with wide eyes and mussed hair. "It's all right, Ausztria." 

"I-Is it?" she asked, panting against the constraints of her dress. Her dress that spilled all over the place below the waist. She gave it a nervous glance, difficult from her position; Hungary followed her gaze, and cautiously, he lifted the fabric, pulling it back down over her legs. He caught on so quickly, she had to give it to him. But it wasn't that she didn't want him to touch her, it was just- 

"...Let me help you up...shall I?" He seemed a little guilty, as if he really had lost control of himself for a moment- or perhaps he'd presumed more of her than was the case. But equally, he was calm. He reminded Austria of a doctor, absurdly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so- " 

"No." Her breathing came easier now, and she contemplated her position. Yes, part of her wanted to lie there and let him begin again, but only part. "No, it is quite all right- but, yes, help me up, please- " 

Hungary took her gently around the waist, and lifted her as easily as a doll, this time; he made to get up and set her on her feet, but she stopped him, and with slow movements, she pushed him to sit, and occupied the space between his spread legs. 

"...It's all right, Ungarn." Austria couldn't quite look him in the eye, though she felt his searching gaze on her face. She stared at the grass instead, the way the shadows wavered through it. They were lengthening, but she failed to understand what that meant. "I am not...I'm not used to..." 

"Oh." He managed to cram a lifetime's worth of understanding into a single syllable. But she felt him open his mouth again as if another thought occurred to him- a thought of _marriage_ , she assumed- and she looked at him to see his brows knit together, puzzlement written across his features- and it was gone again, his understanding complete. " _Ahh._ " 

"...Don't just make noises," Austria huffed, and he met her eyes. There was silence beneath the trees, and then, in unison, they laughed. 

Hungary leaned his forehead down to hers, their noses bumping, and he took her hand in his, seeming to marvel at how slender it felt, or how soft. It might have been that he couldn't believe such a relentless autocrat had such delicate hands, but she didn't mind, if that was the case. Her eyes darted around his face, and when he smiled- such a radiant smile, almost sleepy- she tentatively kissed him again. No writhing, this time, only holding, her hand just as delicate on his strong jaw, his arms encircling her completely. And she had never felt that- oh, in spirit, Spain wrapped her up in love and blankets, but her arms had finite reach, however toned they were. The thought of those arms seemed so familiar to her now, compared to Hungary's, so like to her own. It caught her, for a moment, the idea that she couldn't choose between sensations, and didn't know what she really wanted. But that was allowed, she thought. Indecisiveness was allowed. It was such a trivial thing, after all- the world would never turn on her choice of bedmate. 

Guilt, at least, was out of the question, Portugal being fresh in her mind- and he was not the only _port_ Spain had settled in- but she would forgive that; as long as she could be forgiven this. 

They passed an hour like that, or maybe more. She told him about her new viol, while she supervised his hand creeping up her calf. And he discovered where she was sensitive, her jewels pushed aside for his lips against her bare throat and bosom, wondering aloud if that was why she preferred her necklines to frame the area so nicely. She refused to answer, of course. She was beginning to cultivate a feminine mystique, she couldn't just go around explaining it to people. Anyway, it was gauche. 

By the time Hungary found his wits and escorted her hurriedly back to her carriage, the sun was low on the horizon, and stomachs growled all around. The clink of silver quieted the objections of Austria's servants- though she loathed having to tip them, it was expedient, and she wasn't foolish enough to let all her attendants resent her. 

"I'm sorry to have kept you so late," Hungary said, watching as the carriage was made ready to leave; he looked like he was itching to adjust the horses' bridles himself. Austria put a foot on the step, and he moved to assist her. 

"I am perfectly fine, you need not be sorry." 

"I was thinking of your staff," he said, and she made a face at his benign smile. 

"Well, don't. Come to the castle soon." It wasn't an invitation so much as an order, but he understood, she knew. Before she climbed, she dipped down and said goodbye with a kiss that sent his eyebrows skyward, but she warded off commentary with a finger to her lips. 

"Good evening, Ungarn." 

"...Good evening, my lady." 

She shook her head at him through the window, and rattled off. 

\- 

It wouldn't be accurate to say they stole moments together; they took afternoons and mornings, and a night here and there, spent almost-chastely under velvet blackness and glittering stars. Austria would look at them like they were diamonds she could collect, following the invisible lines of constellations as she would a string of pearls, but she narrated the myths attached to each one with the practiced cadence of some Greek orator. All while Hungary watched them sparkling in her eyes, and formed patterns more mesmerising still in the beauty marks that escaped the shelter of her clothing, wishing dearly to see the rest of them. And he only corrected her storytelling on occasion. 

He asked her to picnic in the autumn, tiring of her heavy dinners, and the presence of endless courtiers they demanded. It was surprising to him that she aquiesced- he found it strange enough that she was willing to spend so much time out of doors with him, let alone eat on the grass, she of the paranoid cleanliness and endless complaints. It was probably, if he was completely honest with himself, out of convenience; they could hardly get caught canoodling if they were far from home, in the shade of the woods. Hungary felt a fleeting self-pity as he contemplated it, that she would be ashamed to be close with him in the city, but he swiftly slapped it out of himself. She was _married-_ sort of, but still- and a lady of her (self-wrought) standing would never be seen to be improper with a man at court. It wouldn't be proper for any of them, not with the gravity of their positions. And, he chided himself, she'd been very gracious recently, including him in many of her affairs, giving him free passage in her palace. 

Of course he chided himself all over again for letting Austria's _graciousness_ take him off his guard, as if he didn't think her every move was calculated, as if she hadn't been more trouble than she was worth for him, in so many ways. Or perhaps that was unfair- she was protecting him, in her own way, and whether it was true or not, she seemed to believe her own words when she spoke of keeping him safe, of liberating him. There had been Bohemia to think about, and the rest- and he'd thought, a touch desperately, that it was better to live in the household of the familiar Empire, than be ground underfoot by a foreign one. 

In the end, Hungary couldn't blame anyone but himself for the chaos that had left him open to Ottoman's assault. The magnates, the army...his pride still smarted, but most days he set his jaw, and accepted the ignominy of defeat. He aimed to be more than a sword, to be noble and thoughtful, not wild in his responses; he couldn't afford that anymore. That wildness, he thought ruefully, had invited Austria's ire, driving him to pull that little occupation stunt, long ago now. Poor timing on his part. Worse on his king's. A pity he couldn't have kept her. It only made sense that she meant to keep him, now. 

She was too busy to oppress him much, in any case. There were other people that needed oppressing more urgently, and she was attending to it with a grim conviction. When she was not distracting herself with him, at any rate. He got the feeling she appreciated an ally, despite that he kept his opinions to himself. He had little right to take a strong stance in her conflict when he couldn't manage his own. But for the time being, he was her man. 

And all politics aside, he wanted very much to make that mean more than it did. A virgin- half a virgin, whatever- he felt a fool for assuming otherwise. She seemed worldly when he saw her with Spain, such that the details seemed unimportant, but they obviously _were._ He'd been wild as a boy, but he never been forward- at least, not with women of Austria's calibre. And she was a woman now, slight of stature but spilling over her bodice, her legs enticingly plump under the skirts she guarded carefully, but not that carefully. It took a great deal out of him to play the gentleman at all hours, and not beg her to let him spread them. She was as skittish as a colt, conveniently remembering engagements before she could let herself give in and scrambling from his embrace; it amused him, when he compared her to the simple village girls he'd known. _They_ tended to be...earthy, and eager. Hungary would never normally spend so much time in dogged pursuit of a highborn maiden- it was never worth the stain on a girl's honour, the danger of militant fathers- but...she was Austria, and had a hold on him he couldn't explain. (And no honour nor father to worry him.) 

It crossed Hungary's mind, as Austria approached him where he sprawled on a sloping hill outside Vienna, that it was her majesty he was drawn to. She sat like a jewel at the heart of her imperial crown, a golden gateway between worlds- Ottoman wanted her for that, he'd heard it from the man himself, and though he'd bristled, he couldn't fault that desire. He too had once wanted her for her position and status, like one would eye up a titled heiress. But more than that, there was a glimmering magnetism that pulled at him. She was very beautiful; she had been beautiful as a child, when he'd mocked her gangly frame and her fat cheeks. But it was the cold steel of her beauty that really made it striking. The sharp contrast of dark hair against her skin, black brows that drew together in scorn, and long lashes that fluttered like a coquette's fan, but gave her a piercing look when she narrowed her eyes. Those eyes- like stones cut from some rare cavern, awash with the light of sapphires from every fascinating angle. 

It made him wonder if she accentuated her beauty on purpose, or if she simply existed that way. He was a man given to nature, to earth tones and simplicity, with a hidden taste for richness that she struck at with her dazzling dresses, her decorated hair. She was over-coiffed, in many ways, but she carried it off in a way he marveled at. Her dress, shimmering yellow silk, should have dwarfed her, and looked ridiculous; but it sailed gracefully with her as she walked, and glinted in the sun. Blue stones burned against so much gold, large pear-drops hanging from her ears lighting up the similar colour of her eyes, and all that blue turned her lips and cheeks strawberry-red. Hungary was taken aback. 

"We are only picnicking, Ausztria." 

"That is not a greeting," she said, and she flopped herself down on the blanket beside him before he could get up to say hello. She looked at him expectantly, and he almost snorted. Politeness was her knight's charter, etiquette her Bible; she followed it to the letter and took enormous liberties with it in spirit. 

"Good afternoon, my lady- you look ravishing today," he said, falling into the role of Prince Charming far too easily. He fancied himself something of an actor, but he wasn't sure he was wholly acting for her. Or was it that he was acting the entire time? He dismissed the thought, kissing her proffered hand, and then her cheek, feeling it warm under his lips. 

"Thank you," Austria said, delicately, "and cease your silliness. What are we eating?" 

"Pigeon." He pushed a basket towards her, open to let a loaf and a tall bottle stick out. "Eggs, a salad- I made you a spiced spread, look- ...Ausztria..." 

"What?" She had cut herself some bread and taken out the pot of honey he _thought_ he'd hidden, as if that would suffice for her lunch. He shook his head, exasperated and entertained. 

"You should eat something else besides sweets from time to time." 

"Don't fuss, Ungarn. Tell me what happened with that duel in Pressburg." 

"Hm...which one?" 

They passed the time idly, picking at the meal; Hungary half thought to feed her grapes, but quickly got a hold of himself. He couldn't help wiping honey from her hands, though, fussing just as she'd said, like a nursemaid to the most spoiled child- but no child had a mouth like hers, gleaming with wine and nectar, too close to his face. He could have sworn she smiled, before he lost himself and kissed her, but perhaps it was a trick of the light. 

It was neither the place nor the time, but Austria met him readily and let him gently press her down to the blanket, a fumbling hand pushing cups and cutlery away. Hungary wondered why he bothered with the pretense of a meal or a walk when this was what she wanted- no, what he wanted, he guiltily admitted. He wasn't sure what she wanted, in the long run, he had never _asked_ if she would like him to relieve her of whatever was left of her maidenhead, and all he could do was try his luck. Things had progressed between them, at least; Austria had grown comfortable with his wandering hands, more than happy with his mouth at her neck, though she still preferred not to be trapped beneath him, and he could understand it. He must have been twice her size, all told- but she was not so slight under the petticoats, he knew, and his fingers gripped one fleshy thigh, the bare skin impossibly soft against his rough hand. There was nothing unusual in the composition of her outfit, but it felt erotic, the knee-high stockings and little heeled shoes, the full layers of her skirts so easy to lift, and reveal bare flesh beneath. She didn't complain when he did just that, baring her pale thigh in broad daylight. He had never seen a farmer or traveler come this far out of the way, but it would be just his luck if they chose to do so now. 

"Ungarn," Austria said simply, her voice clear even now, and pleased; he was used to the bizarre name she had for him, the sound she gave it something like a dry wine for the ears. He kissed his way down her throat, feeling it move with her suppressed laughter; where her breasts swelled, there were beauty marks peeking between them, and he kissed them with his fingers as well as his lips. She arched her back in response as he squeezed her through her dress- it wouldn't be proper, but- 

"Can I...unbutton this?" Before him there was a row of golden buttons, tempting him sorely, and he fingered them one by one; Austria lifted her head to look, then let it drop again, draping her arm over her eyes. 

"Oh...I...suppose- if you must- " Her words were lukewarm, but she gave it a tone she seemed to have learned from scandalous novellas. _I must,_ Hungary thought, laughing inside at his own greed, but he unfastened her bodice shamelessly, pushing this and that layer of cotton and silk aside, tugging on what looked to be her shift, until her breasts appeared bare in their nest of fabric. He bit his lip; out of confinement they were softer, plump and white like they had never seen sun, her nipples delicate and pale. Incongruously, a path of dark moles continued to wind its way between them. For a second, Hungary couldn't believe what she was letting him see. He hadn't really spied much of her when they were younger, though he'd shamefully tried to. He thought he'd never manage it- he'd begun to think Austria's primness impenetrable- but here he was, undressing her, and close enough to press his lips to her breasts. 

He felt the gasp, as he kissed the space between them, Austria's lungs working hard beneath all that flesh. When he glanced up, she was watching him, eyes wide in her red face. It made him slow, as he pressed kisses to her, his lips sinking into her skin as they would the softest milk pudding- he stifled a laugh at his choice of comparative, so apt for her, but his smile seemed to warm her, and she relaxed under his touch. His eyes lingered on hers, but her nipples hinted at her arousal with their firmness, and in his field of vision they urged him on; he took one in his mouth with a groan, suddenly, and she gave a high-pitched whimper that sent a furious ache between his legs. 

It occurred to him, as she whined underneath his firm sucking, that there was no way she had never had this done to her before- Spain may have lacked a cock, but she had a _mouth._ Therefore her reactions either meant she was wildly sensitive- quite possible- or that she was particularly moved by him, or...maybe she was overwhelmed, to have a man attempt to make love to her. It might have been a terrible thing to admit, but it drove Hungary a little wild, in the confines of his own mind, the thought of her innocence- all these months of her obvious want clashing with her shyness, she'd had him fervently easing himself with thoughts of her on far too many nights. Thoughts of her with her blushing cheeks and her little heeled shoes in the air, wet and needy- not tightly bound in the stern, dark clothing she wore on official business, but falling out of loose and colourful dresses. Thoughts of her _under_ him- for he couldn't yet picture taking her another way- full of that gasping, flustered hesitance, but eager for everything he was doing to her. 

Perhaps Austria wasn't quite there yet and perhaps he'd exaggerated the scene, but he was throbbing in his breeches and she was clutching his hair while he left her breasts wet and red, and that was enough for him to try and coax her on. He moved up to her neck, where he'd been delighted to learn she loved his caress; he tried to imagine how it felt to her, his kisses softly falling up to her ear, then firm in the hollow of her throat, but never rough. Hungary wasn't sure she liked rough, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to give it to her if she did. Something about her was just made to be handled with care. An irony, really, but her delicate arms around his back only confirmed it; he sank into her, heedless now of the unspoken rule about not lying on her, and wrapped her in his embrace. She did not complain, her mouth searching his out, her legs spread around him- and only her dress was in the way, a puddle of melted butter bright on the hillside- he had better lift it up, just in case it was a beacon to passersby- 

" _Ungarn,_ " Austria breathed, her lungs struggling for air, but it wasn't an admonishment; Hungary pushed her skirts up to her hips, letting his weight fall between them, letting her _feel_ him. "Oh- God- " 

"Ausztria," he muttered in her ear, kissing her cheek- one of his hands groped for her breast, squeezing, the other underneath her and getting a firm grasp on her ass, enticingly plump. He tried not to hurt her with his considerable mass, but his hips rolled longingly against hers, and he felt her squirm and writhe, a softness between her legs caressing his cock through his thin breeches. It was almost intolerable, and he gave a thrust, his full length rubbing against her. "Ausztria, let's- " 

"Ah..." 

To his surprise, Austria stilled beneath him. He kissed her, and she returned it hesitantly, her eyes open and on the sky, as though she was pondering something. He rolled his hips again, grinding down against her, and felt her cry against his mouth, her eyes wide once more. 

"U-Ungarn..." 

"What?" A part of him was dutifully concerned for her, but a larger part- and, really, it was a large part, he didn't mean to boast- was concerned with how beautifully he'd mussed her hair and smeared the salve on her lips and marked her breasts, and how much he'd like to fuck her, if she'd let him. "What is it?" 

"It- it's just that I- _you_ are..." Her hands were on his shoulders now, but she was stiff, like she was unwilling to move. Hungary wondered if he had hurt her, or if she was _too_ sensitive, but the look in her eyes made his heart sink a little. It didn't make his cock wilt, unfortunately, that might have been helpful. 

"...Do you want me to get off?" 

"I- I- !" Austria became flustered, and though she was beautiful and adorable like that, he felt rather bad about it; he forgave her immediately, though, for the distress she was causing him. He couldn't possibly hold it against a face so agonised. "I just- remembered- I must- " 

"It's all right," Hungary said, as though by rote, keeping the sigh out of his voice. He climbed off her, pulling down her skirts as he went, taking only the briefest glimpse of her womanhood as a souvenir. He'd regret that, looking at what he might never enjoy, but still. His hands hovered over her chest, but she tugged her underclothes back into place herself, struggling to stuff her breasts back into the low front of her stays, and button the whole thing up. It was a little funny, but he didn't dare laugh as she nervously patted her hair and scrambled to her feet. 

"I must see the mayor of Salzburg," she said, almost pitifully. Her dress was a mess, her hair flyaway now. Hungary felt like a villain. She might not have had a father, but he didn't particularly want the Emperor to try thrashing him, either. He gave her a smile, genuine and gentle. 

"I understand, Ausztria. Are you all right?" 

It did something to relieve her, he thought, watching her eyes soften a bit, her hands stop their fidgeting. "Yes. Thank you. I will be fine. Are you?" 

That surprised him; he couldn't tell if she was asking after his feelings, or the embarrassing hardness straining against his breeches that he was trying to hide behind the picnic basket. "Oh- Ausztria, I'm perfect," he laughed, and he meant it, really; it was more embarrassing than his erection, but even though she'd cut things short, she'd still managed to flood him with a kind of happiness he couldn't believe came from _her._ The Empire was some kind of nightmare, but by herself, Austria could be like a dream. "Don't you worry about anything. Go on...go home." 

"Oh..." It sounded almost like she was regretting her decision, but she was obviously standing by it. Hungary didn't know how to explain to her that they didn't _need_ to go the whole way, that they could pause at any moment, just as they always did- not without making things more awkward. Instead he accepted that he had been...too physical, and lacking in _thought._ Next time...if she let there be a next time, he would speak more before he touched her. 

Austria hovered, and he watched her mindlessly before he realised what he should say. "I hope you'll ride with me soon, like we said we would, remember? I was gonna take you out near Pressburg." 

"Oh- yes," she answered, hurriedly, her voice recovering some of that smooth, regal timbre it should have always had. "Yes, naturally, Ungarn. Do inform me when you think the conditions are right. I will be waiting." 

_She's as relieved as I am,_ Hungary thought, as she tottered off with a wave, to be looked after by ever-hovering servants. He rather hoped they hadn't been watching, but as soon as all trace of Austria's entourage was gone from the distance, he threw caution to the wind, and shoved his breeches down to give himself a little more relief. It was all very well, winning fair ladies with impeccable manners, but where the heart was willing, the flesh was definitely weak. 

\- 

The days grew darker; cold and wet, unfit for riding or walking. Or war, but it persisted. Bohemia had folded like a bad gambler under Austria's disciplinary action, and it had relieved her. A quick skirmish, and an example made of the nobility, that was all. Hungary could say what he wanted with his raised eyebrows and quiet coughs, but Austria took no pleasure in violence. Privately, she thought her sovereign _excessive,_ even, but she would carry out his wishes- they coincided with her own, for everyone to just _obey._ All she wanted was unity, fealty and peace and quiet. She really did not see what was so onerous about it. The religious nitpicking was absurd to her, but then, what else could one expect from nations who couldn't be trusted to govern themselves? Of course they would concern themselves with trifles. 

She tactfully kept this opinion from Hungary, though of course he was on the side of the angels, for once, so she had little cause for complaint. It wasn't his fault he had heretics and heathens carving up his territory. If anything, she felt somewhat responsible- the Ottoman Empire did not have his eye on Hungary when he invaded. It was, perhaps, thanks to Hungary's sacrifice- senseless, accidental or otherwise- that she was able to fortify herself so well against his _advances-_ thus far, at any rate. She wouldn't forget that. 

They spent too much time speaking of these matters, as winter settled upon them. The weather confined them to the castle, her lovely horses brought safely back to the riding school, and Hungary with them. She did ask him if he wouldn't rather go home for a while, and he had shrugged. He slipped back to Buda now and then, but it was almost as if he was seeking her companionship, as much as she was his. 

Despite the lack of...progression, in their relationship. Such as it was. Spain had come home as promised, and Hungary had made himself rather scarce while she enjoyed marital bliss for a short while, but soon, she was gone again, with vague promises to bring Portugal to greet her. That had disgruntled her, and on cue, there was Hungary. Austria had to wonder if he felt like some navy-widow's kept man, without the entire package of benefits that ought to have brought him. But when he took her by the hand and strolled the hallways of the castle with her, in lieu of his favoured fields and woods, she thought, perhaps, that it need not be so sordid. Perhaps he was her friend, after all. 

And yes, sometimes, he liked to kiss her, and she liked to let him, but that was all right. It was the rest of it that worried her. They had come- she thought, possibly incorrectly- frightfully close to having, ah- intercourse. And she had been almost ready to allow it, foolish and hasty though it was, until she became cognisant of what _exactly_ he would be putting inside her; of course she knew it was _there_ and what it _did,_ but what she hadn't thought about was the _size._ She'd been an unwilling witness to much bawdy, drunken talk, but feeling those vague allusions in the flesh- as it were- brought a certain reality crashing down on her. Or grinding down on her nether regions, to be exact. Even through his breeches, she had absorbed some rather shocking information about his stature, and promptly fled from him, visions of mares being taken to the stud farm bothering her all night afterwards. 

But to Hungary's credit, he hadn't pressed her about it since. That wasn't the part that worried her, the idea that he wanted it. It was the fact that _she_ wanted it. Austria had an inkling that if she so much as opened her legs while they were cosy together, he would be at attention immediately; it was a lot of responsiblity, her heart and body yearning now to feel him, but her mind insistent that she should not. It would be painful, unpleasant, and frightening, she was convinced, however unfair that assessment may have seemed to Hungary. She trusted him, he was an admirable man, but he had that _thing_ about his person through no fault of his own. She remembered mistaking him for a wild little girl, once, when they were very small and he was nothing but long hair and impish smiles. It was shocking, what maturity had wrought upon him. Handsome and masculine, though with long hair still, and a dandyish flair; enormously tall next to her, and built like a stal- ...like a very muscular...creature. There was a beardless prettiness about him that was confusing, with his strong features. But he was very lovely, and she felt very attracted to him, horrible appendage or no. 

And, really, despite the added agony of his member, Austria could not say that he would have had an easier time with her, if he'd been a woman after all. It took Spain _decades_ to get Austria to lie with her, though that philanderer would have been happy to go to bed on the wedding night, if she could have. And then, of course, slight mishaps aside, Austria had discovered that she liked it, just as she had liked the very instructive books and art pieces she'd made a collection of before her marriage...she vehemently denied her interest in those, still, and was almost as reticent about the actual act. It wasn't shame; it wasn't piety. It was just _propriety._

Perhaps a small part of her thought, traitorously, that she might _like_ what Hungary intended to do to her, as well, and that was part of the reason she refused to try. It was nonsensical, but it felt more _vulgar_ to enjoy a man's use of her, outside the cosy confines of wedlock, not to mention out of doors...nothing about that would be proper. 

Her resolve weakened, though, the longer they spent cooped up in the castle and in her apartments. They could not afford to be so brazen in the gardens, but inside, there was a privacy available, a warmth and comfort that made her calm, and willing. Enough to find some soft and pleasant corner and curl up in Hungary's lap, and let him touch her in the firelight, her eyes closed as he delicately thumbed her nipples, or stroked his fingers through the soft hair between her legs. She was grateful for his restraint, each time, even as she felt herself throb and grow shamefully wet, until she almost wished he would ask her. Ask her to let him please her. Austria couldn't bring herself to do it. 

Her temptation grew to be a terrible burden; Hungary would leave at a decent hour and she would sit on the floor where he'd left her, with her shift around her hips, gasping her orgasms by herself. Staring at her slender fingers afterwards, wondering how she could ever take any more, when they still filled her up. It was truly a problem, but she might have given up and tackled it head-on, pulling him to her bed one night, if the rains hadn't cleared enough to ride again. 

The sky was blue-tinged white, a strange light falling over the world, and a dry, crisp feeling suffused the air. Austria took deep mouthfuls of it, catching her breath after a vigorous ride. A little too vigorous for her, but at least she hadn't been in charge of the animal herself. Hungary had made sure she was comfortable in front of him, her white skirts and fur-lined cape draping neatly as she sat side-saddle- then he'd promptly _stood in the stirrups_ himself and driven them off, just like that. He would have ridden bareback and without reins, if it hadn't been for her; she told him directly that he was out of his mind, but he laughed and laughed, the horse dancing under his effortless direction. And it had been thrilling, just as it been terrifying, Austria's arms clasped tight around the horse's neck as she screamed her amusement. Thank God it was well-trained. 

It idled in a paddock now, at a familiar stable, deserted for the winter. Austria watched it from where she sat on some old barrel Hungary had dragged out of the barn, clutching her furs around herself; her breath clouded the air in front of her, the ground tinged white with frost. Winter was upon them, and Austria liked it, the ice that filled her lungs making her feel strangely alive, white slopes and bare branches a pretty sight to her. Most of all, she loved the soft silence that fell in the woods and the fields, and the hushed merriment in the city. Perhaps it wouldn't be the merriest year, but she had room to breathe, for now. 

Hungary emerged from the barn again, with a large blanket; he draped it over the horse, having removed its tack, and gave it a rub. Austria could have sworn she saw him whisper to it, but even her sharp ears could not make it out. He made provision for his precious equine friend, water from the well and hay from stores, and let it wander into the barn to shelter, with words of thanks and encouragement. Austria laughed at him when he approached her again, a soft, restrained sound. 

"Hm?" 

"Horse whisperer," she said, and he grinned, crouching comfortably next to her instead of finding something to sit on. How he was so flexible and strong, not tired at all from his wild stunts, she had no idea. He didn't even seem particularly cold, his clothing lighter than hers, though dark in colour next to her whites and greys. Then again, all that motion had warmed her inside, even as her cheeks were pink from the cold. She smiled down at him, and he took her hand, their gloves masking the touch. 

"Not too exhausted?" he asked. 

"No...although I feel a little..." Austria squirmed ever so slightly, not quite saddle-sore, but she'd been bumped and bounced enough to feel it. "Jostled." 

"Ha...I'm sorry. I thought you'd like to see how it feels, to ride like that," Hungary said, his eyes evergreen against the winter-white around them, and shining with the memory of his favourite pastime. "But I should be more careful with such a delicate, ah- _item-_ " 

" _Item?!_ " Austria was incredulous, swiping at him, but she chuckled, and an amusing anecdote came to mind. "Do you know, it can cause terrible problems with delicate parts- don't _laugh,_ this is a serious matter, Ungarn. You should not joke about it. Just the other week, a marriage was nearly annulled because the Countess was suspected of being unchaste, but, as it transpired, it was put down to vigorous riding- " 

"I'll bet it was." 

"On a _horse._ " Austria shook her head, still tickled, but as she caught Hungary's suggestive gaze on her, she felt her face heat just a little; she hadn't meant to bring _that_ up, but now that she had, she found herself gazing back, the laughter dying down to an abashed smile. Hungary was playing with her fingers; she felt a desire to take her gloves off and feel his touch, but it was too cold, and her hands too preciously cared-for. She brushed strands of her hair back under her hood, clearing her throat. "Of course she was also unchaste, but that is not the point." 

There was a silent pause, before Hungary erupted in laughter, leaning on her lap. It pleased her, somehow, to have amused him with her joke, and she smiled wider, tentatively stroking his hair. It caught his attention, and he grabbed her hand, kissed it through the doeskin, before leaning up to peck her lips. Like he was trying to catch her smile, she thought, rare quarry, though not so rare with him. They shared a look, and she leaned in to kiss him back, but with her eyes closed, she felt a sudden cold slush against her cheek, and pulled back, blinking. 

"Oh. Snow." 

"Damn it." Hungary stood, hands on hips as he surveyed the white flakes falling around them. Out of nowhere, the flurry was growing faster and thicker, and Austria knew it would blanket her all over before long- though, as beautiful as it was, she preferred a woollen blanket, personally. "We can't head back in this, we'll have to wait until it passes..." 

"It won't _pass,_ even if it stops, the road will be buried," Austria sighed, getting to her feet, and joining him at the paddock fence, to watch the field before them turn paler and paler with each passing minute. "This is why we return to the riding school at this time of year..." 

Hungary folded his arms, huffing out a frosty breath in thought. "Well, we could make it to the village and take a room." 

"On my thoroughbred? In this snow? Think of his hooves." Austria raised an eyebrow, though not at that. "And _a_ room, Ungarn? We will be the talk of the town." 

"You overestimate your infamy, lady," Hungary grinned. "Though...maybe...you're right. They know me, and they ought to know you. I wouldn't want to cause...a situation." 

He stretched his arms, and tapped his chin. "Separate rooms, perhaps. A pity, in this cold..." He winked at her, but then his face fell. "Ah, God damn it, I didn't bring a coin purse- I don't suppose you...no." 

Austria never seemed to have money on her, and she intended to keep it that way, but in this instance, she was genuinely empty-handed. "Surely they will extend us a line of credit, for the night. The Emperor would give them a bag of silver for protecting me from frostbite." 

"Really?" 

"Unlikely. But we might tell them so." 

"Ausztria," Hungary said, exasperated, but he cast a shrewd eye out over the field, to the road in the distance; already, it was white. "I really don't think it'll be safe, by the time we get over there. It's a good couple of miles." 

"Then _what?_ " Though her characteristic drawl was unconcerned, Austria was growing colder, and increasingly unhappy with the idea of sitting out a freezing night in a barn, but walking to town was a terrible prospect. Perhaps Hungary would carry her. But he was looking shifty, rubbing his neck and eyeing the large barn behind her. There were other outbuildings on the grounds, but nothing habitable, no house or office, not for some distance. 

"We could stay here. I'm sure it'll melt by noon tomorrow and we can go...then..." Under Austria's piercing squint, he wavered, obviously knowing how she felt about _camping._ "It won't be bad, there's hay- " 

"Full of God knows what!" 

" -blankets- " 

"Horse blankets." 

" -we've already eaten, so we'll be fine til morning- " 

"I _do_ like to drink hot chocolate before bed, you know." 

" -and I can light the brazier, so we'll be toasty," he finished, smiling to mollify her. She raised an eyebrow. 

"There is a brazier? Who keeps a brazier in a stable?" 

"I do," he said, defensively. "Just in case- " 

"You sleep here with the horses, don't you?" 

"Only when they're under the weather!" He sounded like a drunk trying to understate his problem. Austria opened her mouth, but he barrelled on, changing the subject. "Anyway, it'll be nice and warm for you, I promise- you'll be comfortable. Don't I always look after you?" 

"... _Hm._ " It was funny in a dark way, to hear him speak of looking after _her,_ but on a personal level, it was entirely true, she had to admit. He fussed after her diet, made sure she wore warm clothing, and held her hand over rough ground. She had been waiting for him to lay his coat down over a puddle for months now. Eventually- with the snow gathering on her shoulders a very good motivator- Austria sighed, white powder floating from her cloak with her movement. 

"Very _well,_ Ungarn. But hurry and light the fire, for God's sake." 

The barn was larger than she expected, and airier, chilled by winter's breath and the long lack of sweating horses. Only their mount idled in the back of the structure, in one of the many stalls, content to chew on whatever Hungary had given it. Austria wrapped her arms around herself, standing in the dark and waiting for Hungary to bar the doors. She strained her eyes to make him out, fumbling with something; then, a lamp was lit, and another, and another, until orbs of warm light glowed from several corners, and he could see to pull out the brazier from storage and set to lighting it. He placed it nearby a very large pile of dry hay, and Austria wandered closer, examining the wooden partitions that surrounded it, the blankets tossed about. 

"...This is a very odd setup for a stable, don't you think?" 

"Hm?" There was a sizzling sound, and sparks caught the tinder in the brazier, the flame slowly spreading to the coals. Hungary stood, rubbing his hands together. "Ah, well. When you work long hours around here, you need a little light and warmth, you know. But I don't suppose you've ever had to consider it." 

"That is what I employ you for," Austria said, the sly tilt of her head making her eyes glitter with firelight. "I have simply never heard of such a cosy stable before. Isn't it a fire risk?" 

"Only for idiots," Hungary replied, confidently; he grabbed some blankets and laid them out properly over the hay, motioning for her to sit. At length, she did, and though she was a bit stiff, all dressed for the outdoors, she found her seat comfortably soft. "Besides, it's your precious thoroughbreds we keep in here, it ought to be cosy, right?" 

"It ought _not_ to go up like a tinder box," she warned, as he sat down beside her, but he chuckled, and reached to gently push her hood from her head, ridding it of lingering snow. He cast off his own outer garment, tossing it over a partition to dry out. Austria was less eager to lose her furs just yet, but she relaxed slightly, lying back against the blanket, and Hungary joined her; he propped up his chin with one hand, smiling. 

"You don't trust me?" 

That made her lips twitch without permission- an annoyingly frequent occurrence, when he _looked_ at her with his sleepy, teasing expression, always gentle. She had nothing but trust for him, not as her vassal- for no one could trust a vassal from her position- but as a man, who had proven himself over and over. Austria still struggled to understand how, when by rights, he should have still been the cheeky little nomad of his youth, for he hadn't changed _so_ much. He had only grown. Who had taught him his manners, she did not know, but he kept them better than she would in his position, she knew; had he subdued her in such a manner, she would have behaved as politely as a feral cat. She considered it with a twinge of something vaguely resembling empathy, and suddenly she reached out for him, her gloved fingers touching his jaw. 

"I trust that you will not let me come to harm," she said, softly, and then she nearly grinned. "On pain of death." 

" _Oh,_ that's how it is," Hungary replied, amused, and he rolled into her embrace, tugging at her gloves; she let him remove them and tuck them away in a pocket of her cloak, his fingers then tugging at its fastenings. She allowed that, too, the slide of fur and velvet from her shoulders, to simply lie under her like another blanket. Without the cloak, a heavy winter ensemble covered her from neck to ankles, all layers of grey and black, and she felt Hungary pause, observing it. 

"You should really let your clothes dry," he said, finally, with a twinkle in his eye. Austria raised an eyebrow. 

"Oh? Are they damp?" 

"Well, you should let them air out by the fire, they're chilled," he said, smoothly, and he slid out of his own dark jacket, tossing it aside like his cloak. His doublet, a pretty green thing, followed, and Austria shivered just to see him in his shirt. But he seemed not to notice any cold, more concerned with patting down his discarded clothing. The item he'd remembered turned out to be a flask, and he waved it at her. "Brandy?" 

"It's no hot chocolate," Austria sighed, but she took it and helped herself, the cold liquid warm and spicy in her throat. She sat up to avoid a spill, and Hungary took advantage most uncharitably to try removing a layer from her, a warm wool overgown. He affected innocence, and she pursed her lips at him, but off it came, to join the nest of fabric growing around them. At least the chill was vanishing, any draught warded off from their corner, and the heat of the brazier spreading. Hungary's hands were idling around her now-bare chest, pushing aside the white cotton underlayer that peeked out from the pale grey silk of her bodice. She caught one of his hands, her thumb gently stroking it, and he leaned in, his arm wrapping around her waist. 

"You cannot remove _all_ my clothes, Ungarn, I shall freeze," she murmured, and sipped his brandy again; he pulled his hand back to take it from her, throwing a drop back himself. 

"I could keep you warm, Ausztria," he laughed, discarding the flask, in favour of pulling her down to their bed again, arms around her. "Just as I do at your house." 

"Well, it is much easier to do that before an enormous fireplace," she protested, but she put her arms around his neck, and studied him thoughtfully, falling quiet. "Ungarn..." 

"Hm?" He pressed his forehead to hers, curious. "What?" 

"I..." It was difficult to voice the vague thought in her head, but now that she had acknowledged it, her blunt streak pushed her on. "I have been wanting...that is- if we had returned home safely, you might have...spent the night with me." 

It was most gratifying to see understanding slowly dawn on Hungary's face, and his cheeks redden. So often, Austria was the one glowing pink at every turn. He swallowed a bit hard, looking like he wished he still had his flask to hand, but he smiled at her as he always did. 

"Well...then I'm sorry I couldn't get you home," he said, "but we are spending the night, after all." 

Austria let out a soft laugh at their situation, but it died as she realised what he meant, a meaningful look in his eyes; suddenly, she felt a regret that she'd mentioned anything. It might have been all very well to say it at home, in comfort, but not here, in a _barn._ Then again, perhaps she would have gotten cold feet even before that roaring fireplace, the idea so much more pleasing than the reality, in her mind. It was as though Hungary's interest immediately put her out of sorts- that despite her trust in him, she was afraid of his desire. Afraid that it would take precedence somehow over her own, which she could never allow, never suffer. 

It must have shown in her face, because Hungary was stroking her now, her arm, her braided hair. "Ausztria. What's the matter?" 

"Not here," she said, shaking her head at the thought, undignified somehow- though she had not balked at enjoying the _gardens_ with Spain. "Please forget that I said anything, it was improper- " 

"It wasn't," Hungary cut in, soothingly. "It's really all right, Ausztria. I want...to spend the night with you." 

She blanched to hear him say it aloud, as though he thought it would help. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, her explanation stilted in her mind, her excuses nonsensical. There was nowhere, she realised, for her to escape to, no pressing matter to conveniently call her, no entourage to whisk her away. And though it was _Hungary_ holding her- and doing nothing to her- her instincts overtook her, and she froze, silent, a quiet distress clouding her sense. She caught Hungary's look of concern before she pulled herself out of his arms, sitting up hurriedly, her eyes looking for the door, though all that lay outside it was a freezing death and an embarrassing revival afterwards, she knew. 

"Ausztria? Are you all right?" 

"No," she blurted out, regretting it instantly as he sat up with her, reaching to put his arm around her; she put a hand out to his chest, warding him off half-heartedly, and he paused in place. "I am sorry- I cannot- " 

"Can't what?" He sounded genuinely puzzled, and more than that, worried. For her health, perhaps. "Did I- ?" 

"Oh, _no,_ Ungarn," she breathed out, before he could even finish his question, looking at him despairingly with shining eyes. "It's not you, I- I can't- in a _stable-_ " 

She was lying at least in part, trying to spare him any blame for her fears, because it wasn't his fault, even if it sort of _was._ Hungary understood, though, what she was getting at, and he let out a soft noise of realisation. 

"Oh...Ausztria, I didn't mean to suggest- you don't have to do _anything,_ " he said, withdrawing from her rigid form a little, but keeping a warm hand on her shoulder- as if he was trying to familiarise her with it, like he would an unbroken horse. The thought was funny, somewhere in her mind. "If you wanted it, I would've...looked after you, I swear...but if you don't, we'll sleep. Just sleep. Look, you don't even have to be near me- " He let go of her, suddenly, and rolled himself over on their hay bed, exaggeratedly far away from her. "See?" 

Austria, despite herself, let out a small bark of a laugh, shaky and shocked more than anything. "Don't be absurd, please." 

Hungary crawled back over to her, and though there was a trace of a smile there, he was more earnest and serious than she had seen him before, worried that he'd done some sort of irreparable damage. Perhaps it was hitting him, every time he'd unknowingly pushed her boundaries a little too far; Austria felt sorry for him in that moment. It struck her, the fact that he had never meant to do her harm- that he only wanted to be with her, and take care of her, despite the events that had passed between them. He was not some cad in an alehouse looking for the nearest whore, wandering off when he couldn't sate himself with her. She felt horrible for assuming the worst of him in some way; then, sorry for herself again, an inner voice protesting that she hadn't meant him harm either, and had a right to her questionable chastity. 

She was at an impasse, silent, but Hungary leaned towards her, and she looked him in the eye. "Ungarn, I did want..." 

"Don't worry about it," he stressed, hesitantly opening his arms to her; she slowly let herself be drawn into his embrace. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about. Not now...not here, in a stable. Wait til...you feel...more comfortable." 

Austria laid her head on his shoulder, but she fidgeted, burdened with the truth. "I don't know that I will ever be comfortable." 

He was silent for a moment, stroking her hair again, though she couldn't benefit fully, with it all styled up. "Then, don't worry at all." 

"Ungarn- " 

"It's all right," he said, like a mantra; she was a little sick of hearing it, but he kissed her hand, tenderly, and she looked up again. "But..." 

A chill ran through her, settling in her belly. "But?" 

"But," he repeated, slowly, stroking her face, "if I could make you comfortable. Would it help?" 

At least he wasn't telling her their relationship, whatever it was, would have to come to an end. Austria hesitated, thinking of _comfort,_ and how she had indeed found it in his arms, a quiet trust letting him caress her almost to sleep, safe in the knowledge he would do nothing more. But she wanted more, and yet... 

"How...would you do that?" she asked, a little of her wariness easing, the warmth returning. Hungary smiled slightly again, and it was like seeing a torch flare in the dark. 

"I'd ask you to lie down with me again. And I'd...kiss you, and talk to you..." 

"And touch me?" 

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a request or a concern?" 

It was a joke typical of their more pleasant conversations, and Austria flustered on cue, fighting a faint spark of amusement. " _Neither,_ I am asking you seriously- " 

"Of course I'd touch you," he laughed, his fingers dancing already down her throat, warm against her chest. "And undress you, to touch a little more- if you liked it," he added, hastily. He looked apologetic for a second when she did not reply, but she answered him with a touch of her own, to his shoulder. 

"Will you undress?" 

It obviously surprised him, but he looked like a man who had forgotten something obvious and just remembered, amused at himself. "Yes, of course. It's not fair to pull you out of your dress while I'm still halfway presentable, is it...?" He was a little shamefaced, laughingly embarrassed, probably recalling those afternoons of unbuttoned bodices. Austria gave him a small smile. 

"Halfway presentable is a charitable description," she said, not so confident as usual, but getting there. "What else?" 

"Oh," he said, colouring slightly, his eyes searching the ceiling. "Well, I would, ah. Do...something nice...to y- for you, if you wanted to, that is- " 

"You mean," she cut in, thinking of her wife now, "with your- " 

"Yes," he said, in a rush; it was unusual, to see him blush, but he was. It wasn't like Austria's blushing, embarrassment and avoidance. It was more like a flush of interest, arousal, she assumed. She wasn't even sure what he'd meant, or if he knew what _she_ meant, but somehow, she felt they were on the same page. She joined him in his redness. 

"Ah. Well..." 

"But not here," he continued, in what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring voice. "It's not appropriate for you, after a- " 

"I don't...mind." Austria's face burned as soon as she said it, but the truth was pressing on her once again, and more than that, she feared losing all nerve, as soon as they got home. Out here, alone in the silence of the snowfall, in dim firelight, she felt oddly liberated from propriety. Her fears remained, but her morals had fled her; this felt like her one chance, to try. When she looked Hungary in the face again, his mouth was slightly open, a look about him that made her body seem to warm, and throb. A hasty desire to set the record straight, before she lost her sense as well as her morals, put words on her tongue. "But- you must promise, Ungarn- " 

"I will- I do, Ausztria, I won't do a thing- not a thing you don't want- " 

"It's just," she almost stuttered, compelled to tell him, "I am- afraid- " 

"Ah." It caught Hungary off-guard, she could tell, his eagerness abating slightly; he looked at her thoughtfully, tilting her chin up. "Of me?" 

There was silence, her eyes wide on his, before she responded. "P-Parts of you." 

"Parts- " It dawned on him slowly, and when it did, he actually _snorted,_ which Austria absolutely did not appreciate. "Oh, Ausztria, Ausztria- " 

"I-I am quite serious," she hissed. "Please cease your amusement immediately- " 

" _Ausztria,_ " Hungary laughed, and he sounded so endeared with her, she could not quite be angry. He kissed her forehead soundly, and hugged her tight. "I've just never seen you afraid of anything before. I promise, I won't hurt you. Trust me, duchess." 

The old, teasing nickname jolted Austria, and she twisted her lips in some kind of smile. "Archduchess." 

"Right." Hungary actually rolled his eyes, and she would have scolded him for it, but he was coaxing her to lie down, and so she did. 

It was warm now, their bed, the brazier glowing gently and the heat suffusing the clothes and blankets beneath them. In the background, Austria could hear their horse snuffling, and she thought to herself that it wasn't the ideal sound for this experience- she would have liked a flute and a couple of guitars, but then perhaps it was for the best that there wasn't also a musical troupe hiding out in the barn. It was amazing, how her mind could wander while Hungary was kissing her with his hands in her hair, her braids coming loose and bringing the whole thing down with them. She shifted, and he opened his eyes to check on her, but she only reached for the ribbon holding his hair in a tail, tugging it out. He chuckled against her lips, shaking out long locks that flickered orange-gold in the lamplight. 

"You like this?" He helped himself to a few more pins out of her hairstyle, stowing each one carefully in her cloak pockets, and her dark mane spilled across the grey furs underneath her head. 

"You still look..." 

"What, like a girl?" Hungary laughed, holding her again, his hand straying under her skirts this time, to pull her leg over his hip as he lay beside her; it looked delicate against his muscular thigh and dark clothing, her pale, stocking-clad calf, and she had to shake her head, no. 

"But pretty," she mumbled without much thought, her dress pushed up to her hip by his warm hand, large fingers stroking her thigh; she pressed herself closer to him, taking his lips for herself again. Austria couldn't feel much of his body, through the bunched layers of fabric, but she felt him fiddling around behind her back, unfastening her bodice, probably. 

"Is it all right?" he asked, feeling her stillness as she paid curious attention to his movements; she made a noise of assent, and he continued, but she too was moving. Her hands wandered, up the sides of his broad waist and chest, feeling him squirm slightly at the touch. It was his shirt she was interested in- removing it, to be exact. It would comfort her, she thought, to see him unclothed and vulnerable, though she felt he could never be as vulnerable as her, somehow. His maleness, perhaps? Or- his mannerisms, it was hard to say. He thought nothing of stripping off to work; she would rather be caught dead than in her nightgown. 

Her bodice gave at the back, loosening about her, and Hungary slipped it off her shoulders with some of the layers underneath, the fashion for voluminous gowns making them rather easy to leave in a state of dishabille. Her stays remained, as did the shift under it, protecting her skin from chafing; unbeknownst, perhaps, to Hungary, the corset was an underbust, her breasts unbound and soft beneath her dress. But before she would let him find out, she tugged at his shirt, catching his attention. 

"Ah," he said, "of course, milady." 

"Don't speak like a servant," she insisted, but she watched him lift himself enough to tug his billowing shirt over his head, at her command, with some relish. Austria had only seen him in stolen glimpses, never asking him to undress while he was intimate with her, for fear it would _encourage_ him too much. But the sight was impressive, and her mouth felt dry as she took it in- the lamplight cast shadows in every crevice, exaggerating the firmness of his body, the sculpture of his muscles. He was paler now that it was winter, but his olive complexion lingered, made more bronze by the glowing darkness of the barn. And he bore scars, faint and dark; one curved down the side of his abdomen, and she reached out to trace it with her fingers. 

He knelt above her and let her admire him, looking rather pleased with himself whenever she spared a glance for his face. So much larger than she was, and so gentle when he took her hands and pressed them to his stomach, encouraging her to explore; she couldn't get over the breadth of his shoulders, the size of his upper arms. Under her searching palms, his skin was hot- not merely warm- softer than she expected, but firm and tight over his abdomen, his chest. He felt strong, healthy, well-fed despite his fitness; Austria felt slightly like she was evaluating a horse, smiling to herself, but in her explorations, her eyes wandered, and fell on the hardness in his breeches. Now her throat was dry, her feelings ambiguous, but Hungary was already lying beside her again, pulling her focus back to his face. 

"May I?" He tugged softly at the front of her dress; Austria gathered herself, and arched her back in answer, letting him pull down her bodice and slide her arms out of her sleeves, her layers clustering at her waist. It was obvious, now, the limitation of her stays, and she caught a brief, cheeky glance from Hungary before he tugged her chemise out of the way, exposing her breasts. It was like a habit, the way she put her forearm over her eyes and her red cheeks, but even she giggled when he gave them a squeeze, pinching both her firm nipples. She slowly uncovered her eyes, watching him play with her; he was teasing, she could see it in his eyes, and he laughed at her reproachful, amused look, leaning down to kiss her soundly. 

It was easy, to respond to kisses, eyes closed and body curving to meet his, her leg draped over his hip again, her breasts full in his hands. It was easy to admit, too, that she wanted him to make love to her, but still not so easy to let him do it. When he shifted his weight, spreading her legs to lie upon her, she broke from his kiss, breathing a little too hard. 

"Don't worry," he whispered in her ear, kissing it, and she tried not to. "I said I wouldn't hurt you." 

"Yes, well," she muttered, but he was kissing her neck, wet and firm, bound to leave a mark; she leaned into it, melting under it. Hungary peppered her chest with kisses; instead of grinding himself between her legs, as she'd expected, he moved down her body, sucking her breasts in turn, massaging them and taking his time. She watched him curiously. It was quite a sight, him releasing her nipple from his mouth to grin lazily at her. 

"Will you tell me something?" 

"...Ah...what?" 

"How do you like to do it with _Mrs_ Habsburg?" he asked, a laugh in his voice as he idly toyed with her skirts. Austria blinked at him. 

"I..." The meaning of his question slipped by her as his joke took precedence in her muddled head. "I thought _I_ was Mrs Habsburg." 

"Well- " He, too, looked puzzled for a moment, but he shook his head, more important matters still at the forefront of _his_ mind, at least. "One of you must be. Anyway- how does she do it for you, Ausztria? Tell me." 

Her face felt hot as she contemplated the question, memories flooding her; night after night, and morning, of sex that was gentle and rough at once, with no pain or worry. Just warm tongues and writhing, soft bodies, every inch of her nude form loved in some manner- _every_ inch- 

"She kisses me," Austria managed to stumble out, shakily drawing breaths as her arousal mounted, unbidden. "All- that is- every- " 

"Her mouth?" Hungary inquired softly, stroking her cheek; his own mouth was as wet as he'd left her breasts, and she thought of the wetness Spain- or _she,_ herself- would come away with on their lips. It was probably dripping between her thighs already. Austria nodded, closing her eyes. 

"And her, ah, fingers- " 

"Yeah," Hungary said, something like a catch in his voice, perhaps as he contemplated the picture himself. "Inside?" 

She was slightly shocked by his bluntness, but she nodded, her hips shifting. He had pushed her skirts up almost to her waist, her dress nothing but a very excessive belt at this point; she was sure he could see between her legs, but she willed herself not to close them. "Something else- " 

"Oh?" He looked excited, a little breathless, and Austria dimly realised he was as nearly as enthralled as she was. "What's that?" 

"Ah...something," Austria stuttered, as she felt Hungary's hands on her inner thighs, pressing them wide apart. "Something you- I don't think you can...do..." 

"What..." 

"No, I suppose- you did, when you, ah, you lay on me and, and your hips- but she, um, with no clothing, it's- sort of- more soft- wet- " 

She was babbling like a fool, and about something very lewd, besides, but Hungary looked ready to choke. 

"Jesus," he said, hoarsely- God knew what sort of images were in his head- but he held it together, though he was breathing hard. "I can do, ah, that, but it'll be..." 

"Different..." 

"Mmhm..." He looked down at last, at her openly spread before him, and licked his lips apparently without thought; Austria's breath hitched. "I'll just- " 

"Please," she said, suddenly, and they locked eyes for a moment, before he slowly lowered his head. 

Austria had to put her hand over her mouth, as he gently spread her lips with his thumbs, brushing her hair out of the way before pressing his mouth to her. It was nothing she hadn't felt before, and yet it was entirely something else, to feel his strong jaw pressed between her legs, his hands slipping under her to support her backside like her weight was absolutely nothing. He pulled her towards him, with a haste that she couldn't call aggression, but it was more passionate than he usually allowed himself to be; duly, she let herself go the same way, lying back against the hay and blankets, a cry escaping her. She had no idea who he had treated to this before her, and didn't care, her legs limp in his hands and her hips strugging not to strain against the firm attentions of his tongue down her slit, swiping her sensitive entrance. He lingered there, and she foolishly wasn't sure why, squirming as he plied her open with his tongue. But it felt strangely enjoyable, him tickling her and teasing her, probing inside her. It was bizarre to think that she had been frightened to have him even touch her there. 

She spread her legs wider, encouraging his entry, and he was generous with his attention, leaving her soaked with his saliva and her own wetness. Soon, though, he dragged his tongue upwards, up to where her nerves were laid bare, drawing soft whimpers from her that she muffled in her hands. Austria got the feeling Hungary was looking at her, but she screwed her eyes up, a smile overtaking her face as he lapped at her sensitive clitoris. She felt...stupid, in a way, for obsessing over his cock when he had other charms. And he was sharing them with her in ample measure, pressing her legs back against the makeshift bed to be caressed by furs, his mouth firm and certain on her; he sucked hard, and she whimpered her delight. 

His movements went unnoticed, however, in her pleasure, and she was taken aback when he slipped his finger inside her, pushing gently and penetrating her easily. She gasped her surprise, and he broke from her with a harsh breath of his own, panting. 

"Am I hurting you?" 

"Oh," she breathed, relaxing again. "No." 

Hungary didn't return to her with his mouth immediately; instead, he gently slid his finger back, and in again, watching her closely for signs of discomfort. His hands were larger than her own, or Spain's, by far, but caused her no problems; she watched him in turn through her dark lashes, her breathing slowing again. Reassured, Hungary dipped his head, gentle on her now with his tongue, and her hips lifted again for more; she felt him slide his finger deep into her, crooking it experimentally. She might have been a little naive in her dealings with him, but she knew plenty about herself, and she had to hand it to him, he was far from clueless. 

A second finger touched her opening, and Austria breathed as though she was singing, controlling herself, relaxing to admit it. There was a stretch this time, his fingers too wide, and it stung her slightly; as if he noticed the minute tension in her, Hungary lapped at her, his tongue melting against her, and the pleasure seemed to soften everything. She had taken more, she knew, on occasion, the _wedding presents_ from France finding their way inside her in Spain's careful hands, but that was with oils and unguents- and in her bed, for one thing. Still she didn't fear injury, at least, and she tried to get used to his intrusion, her hips gradually rocking with his rhythmic motions. When she felt a third probing digit, however, she moaned in reproach, waving her hands at him. 

"Too much," she bit out, the tip of his finger stretching her beyond comfort; Hungary withdrew completely, wiping his mouth. 

"All right," he said, and he pulled himself back up the hay pile to lie next to her again. "Come here- on your side." 

Perhaps he thought he ought to take charge now that she was distracted with pleasure, and she wasn't sure she liked that, but she trusted him, and rolled towards him as he indicated. He kissed her with his wet mouth, surprisingly, fingers leisurely tracing her breasts, finding her buttocks and squeezing as he pulled her close. Austria felt her own wetness as she moved, damp all between her thighs, and a sort of ache he'd left, as if she was now empty where she had been full. But he was attending to her again, a thumb on her clit and fingertips gently stretching her opening; two slid in at once, to the knuckle, and she made a pleased noise in her throat. The position was a little more accommodating, she found. Hungary really knew more than he ought to about women. 

He was stroking her earnestly now, a certain pleasure building as his fingers filled her. His tongue was lazy and gentle in her mouth, his free hand idly playing with her nipple, and Austria thought that she could enjoy reaching her peak that way. She relaxed completely into him, but he pulled back from her enough to speak, whispering. 

"Can I try again?" 

"Ah...yes," she answered, impulsive, though still uncertain; she tried not to tense as his fingers slowly pushed for space inside her, but she hissed in pain even so, three digits side by side stretching enough to burn. "A-Ah- " 

"Try to relax," he murmured to her, knowing better than to kiss her when she needed to voice what she was feeling. It hurt, but paradoxically pleasured her, his fingers twisting and brushing sensitive places even as they forced their way in. He reached down with his other hand now, needing it to fervently rub her clitoris, her body trembling with the movement. Her face screwed up, sounds escaped from low in her throat, moans of pleasure tinged with sharp whimpers of discomfort. Austria could not open her eyes to look into Hungary's, but she wondered how he saw her, in that moment. She buried her head in his shoulder, and he hoisted her leg up to his waist, pushing deep inside her with abandon. 

She was breathing very hard, but it was growing easier, she could feel it; he knew how to stroke her in circles, keep her on the edge of ecstacy while he worked her, and her muscles seemed to relax slightly, though she still squeezed him tight. After a while he slowed, and when he returned to using two fingers, she sighed long and loud at how easy it felt. 

"...Enjoying that?" he teased, and she finally looked at him, a little sweaty and disheveled, to say the least. 

"...To an...extent." 

"Sorry," he said, and she could see that he meant it. "I pushed you too much?" 

"No." Austria pushed her hips towards him, and he dutifully curled his fingers, the sensation unlike anything else. "I want...I want to..." 

"What?" He sounded like he knew, and looked it too, from where she gazed up at him, with her flushed face and red lips. His eyes were dark, serious. "What do you want, Ausztria?" 

"I want...to feel...you..." She trailed off, biting her lip, despite the damage it could do to her carefully-kept appearance in tandem with the winter air. "I would like to, ah, t-try- " 

"Oh? Really?" There was that teasing tone in her ear, and she smiled despite everything, pushing at his shoulder even as she tried to spread her legs further for him. "Are you sure, lady?" 

"I don't know," she admitted, groaning at how close he was bringing her, and yet how reluctant he seemed to be to make her climax. "But do it anyway, please." 

"You're asking a lot," Hungary laughed, gently making some room between them, pushing her bunched-up dress out of the way with his fingers distracted inside her. "Would you do something for me, then?" 

"What...?" 

"Unfasten my breeches," he said, taking her hand and pressing it to his crotch; it was like a bolt of lightning, the heat of him against her palm, and she almost withdrew, but caught herself. Her eyes darted from his, to what was in her hand; slowly, she took measure of it, groping unsteadily up his length- down again, for a moment, to feel his sac with something between horror and wonder in her expression- before finally fumbling her way to the fastenings. Hungary, for his part, was quiet, only his arm moving to keep fingering her, his stomach and chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. 

With shaking hands, she tugged his breeches down enough to free him. 

And she almost changed her mind there and then. 

"That- it's- " Her eyes widened like saucers at the sight of him, firm and thick, longer than was decent; she had always thought men completely exaggerated their sizes at every opportunity, but she was revising her stance rapidly. "That is _far_ too big!" 

It was fortunate, really, that Hungary was a man of mild character; he only laughed at her outrage, his face pressed against her cheek. "Ausztria, I'm very sorry for my anatomy- " 

"Oh, don't! You are not sorry at all," Austria complained, as if he actually should be sorry, and perhaps take steps to correct his problem. It was difficult to rail against him when he was wrapped around her, and making her jolt and sigh still with his fingers, but she put a lot of feeling into it anyway. "I don't know _how_ you expect me to deal with _that,_ it's...unreasonable..." 

"Didn't you just ask for it?" He was kissing her neck and her face while he was teasing her, but he sobered up slightly, taking her hand again. "Here..." 

He placed her hand on his cock, and gently wrapped her fingers around it; Austria hesitated, not knowing, exactly, what the done thing was, though she had a vague idea from hearsay. Hungary was hot to the touch, she had almost forgotten the snow outside; his skin was strangely delicate there, though the, er, muscle was curiously textured. It was too dim to say for certain, but he seemed reddened at his tip, and almost a little wet, the thought shocking to her. She hadn't considered his, his _emissions-_

"Is it really too big?" he was asking, and she dragged her eyes back up to his face. "We can forget about it, Ausztria. I don't want to hurt you. You might have me arrested for bodily harm..." 

She appreciated his lightheartedness, masking his serious concern, but she made a face at him. "I might well, Ungarn, and don't you forget it. But..." 

His fingers slid out of her, trailing up over her clit; she was throbbing, and drenched. If she couldn't take him now, she never would. She met his eyes, her mouth quirking ever so slightly, but nervous desire flooded her features. 

"It is all right," she said, and she leaned up to press her soft lips to his, indulging in a deep kiss, and the scent of his skin. 

When he tipped her on her back again, she let her legs fall wide open without concern, this time. They fell oddly silent, Austria unsure what to say, and Hungary apparently concentrating. She half-expected him to simply try and push inside her, but he had much more sense than she did, and spent his time kissing her, every inch that he could reach. Her neck, her breasts, and her lips, plied with kisses while his hands caressed her thighs and her buttocks, his fingers gently rubbing her folds when they ventured between her legs. At length, though he settled himself on his knees between them, and Austria shut her eyes, expectant. 

"It's just my fingers," he soothed, sliding one, two inside her, easily now. Austria rocked her hips, slow in time with his movements, but something in her was impatient, and her back arched up from the blankets. He obliged her with a third, the stretch not so bad, she thought, though her chest heaved with her deep breaths even so. She refused to open her eyes, but she felt Hungary's weight as he leaned over her, supporting himself with an arm against the hay bed, while the other prepared her. His thumb rubbed hard circles over her clit- she had to praise his coordination- and his fingers were a little ruthless with her now, pushing hard, deep but slow. There was almost a numbness, stimulation oversensitising her nerves, muting most discomfort. Not all, however, and she braced herself. 

"You're doing very well," Hungary said, and against all odds she chuckled to think he would speak to her like her governess, now. She heard him laugh, too, but he spoke again, and made her heart swell in her chest. "You're very beautiful, Ausztria." 

"L-Like this?" she asked, with a shaky laugh, thinking of her disheveled hair, her sweat, her pained expressions, and the reality of her body. "Are you flattering me? You have already- mmn...already gotten me into bed...in- in a manner of speaking..." 

"You've a poor opinion of me, duchess, if you think I'd flatter you," Hungary replied, gentle and distracted; Austria felt the shift of his weight again, wondering what was happening, but she felt she might lose heart if she looked. "I mean every word...now...tell me...how many fingers?" 

"...I...what?" She had truthfully lost all track of what he was doing to her, so caught up in what he was _going_ to do; she wriggled, feeling nothing in particular but a _lot_ inside her, and she guessed. "I thought it was, er, three...wasn't it?" 

"Hm," was the only answer, and there was a movement, some shifting and pressing between her legs- she briefly felt him take his fingers away, then- she thought- put them back _in,_ though...it felt a little different- 

"Ah!" Her eyes flew open, an exclamation slipping out; Hungary was carefully leaning down over her, a smile on his face that was almost apologetic. One arm held him up, the other grasping her tightly around the hips, his fingers digging into her ample backside, and above all, he was _inside her,_ she could feel and now _see._ It was hard to say how far by looking, but he filled her with a strange heat, and somehow he felt...softer, no awkward knuckles to contend with, at least. He was still large, though, and the worrying stretch returned, hurting her a little when she tensed up reflexively. "Ungarn- " 

"Shh, shh," Hungary murmured, stilling, and kissing her cheek. "Are you all right? Ausztria?" 

"Ah...mm." Austria was non-committal, but she wasn't quite _not_ all right, so she lay quietly for a moment. "I feel..." 

"What?" 

"Full," she breathed, taken with the unusual sensation. "And- ow- " 

"Sorry- sorry- " 

"Different," she managed, squirming. "It's different than the, the wooden- the, er, thing that- Frankreich- " 

"Wooden thing?" Hungary was bemused in her ear, but she babbled on. 

"And fingers," she gasped, her hips straining with a need to do _something,_ a deep-seated arousal responding to his glacially slow slide into her, despite the lingering pain. "Oh- how strange- " 

If Hungary was laughing at her, he was doing a good job of hiding it. Gently, he laid himself on top of her, careful with his weight; he made no move to pull her hips flush to his, obviously wary to interrupt her wondering with too much discomfort. Austria peered into his eyes, her breaths coming heavy. 

"Want to move?" he asked, nearly as casually as he might ask if she wanted a drink. She puzzled over it for a minute, then understood, that he was waiting for her. "Here." 

The arm around her hip slid between their bodies instead, rather awkwardly- he had to lean all his weight on his elbow and list to one side to do it, pulling her with him ever so slightly. But he could reach between her legs to draw circles over her clit, and he looked at her expectantly. It did ease things, just a little. Experimentally, Austria moved. She raised herself on her elbows for leverage, taking a deep breath, as she let the sensation of him pleasuring her take hold; then she haltingly pushed her hips upwards, her teeth clamping down on her lip. It would be bloody by the end of this, she thought, but it helped, as she took Hungary deeper inside, in slow, aching movements. She didn't think she could manage it all, and she stopped with a shaky whimper, but it seemed enough for Hungary at any rate; the look on his face was almost as pained as she imagined that on her own, and he moaned with her. 

"Ausztria," he panted, his large shoulders heaving with what must have been the after-effects of holding his arousal at bay all this time. "Is it- painful- ?" 

"S-Somewhat," she said, concentrating on his rubbing fingers. "It's...lessening... _ah-_ Ungarn- would you mind- _could_ you, please- " 

_Move._ Unlike most things that hurt, she wanted it to go on. Hungary seemed to get the picture- or perhaps he simply lost his grip on himself- because he pulled back, the pressure inside lessening as the thicker part of him left her. He mumbled something in her ear, some apology, maybe, muddled by a groan of pleasure, and then he began to thrust into her, short and shallow. Austria let herself cry out each time, it was pointless to hold it in; it wasn't all pain, in fact it wasn't so bad at all, these light, quick thrusts, not with the accompaniment of his firm fingers. She was sore, to be certain, her outer flesh feeling bruised, but inside, he was hard and thick against places that gave her a thrill of pleasure, sliding easily into her wetness. The discomfort became background noise, her body consumed by a building orgasm, the intensity of her fullness something she had never felt before. Perhaps the rush of nerves in itself was contributing, she didn't know, but she wrapped her arms around Hungary's neck and jerked her hips up, and he readily responded. He pressed down into her- all the way, perhaps, and she cried out so loudly she heard the horse voice a complaint behind them, her hands scrabbling at Hungary's broad back. She didn't even notice her fingernails scratching at him, but he must have, for he swore in her ear, the oath devolving into gasping groans. His fingers must have been ready to fall off, his arm actually jabbing her now and again with the franticness of his movements, but she didn't care about any of it, not the distant pain of him thrusting hard into places that had only ever been gently touched, nor the jostling, the sweat- Hungary kissed her suddenly, and she wound her fingers into his hair tightly enough to hurt him, relishing in the way he sounded. A slight revenge, perhaps, but he took it as encouragement, and she realised his gentleness was not the only thing he could give her. 

It tipped her over the edge rather suddenly, Hungary's mouth on her throat as she let her head fall back, her moans high and breathless. Bliss radiated through every aching part of her, for a long moment, and she wrapped her legs around him instinctively, letting him take her as he would. It felt wonderful, for that short time, and if Austria could spare a conscious thought for anything else, she would have assumed it felt wonderful for him, gasping and heaving as he was, rocking her with his thrusts. He stopped rubbing her in favour of wrapping his arms around her entirely, and she embraced him tightly. But sensation returned, and she had to put her hand over her mouth as her whimpers returned with it, soreness a little too overt now as Hungary took his fill of her. 

His hands fisted in the blankets underneath her, she could feel his arms tensing hard, and, thankfully, he finished. It was hard to feel much more of anything, but there was a certain strangeness to the sensation, at least. Panting, and wincing slightly, she turned her head to him; he was collapsed on top of her, his hair everywhere. Tentatively, she stroked the top of his head, drawing her fingers through the strands. 

"Ahh...Ausztria." He shifted to look at her, through the mane of hair in his face, and gave her the same sleepy smile, though it was shakier than she had ever seen it. "Are you...was that good?" 

"Um," she replied, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully. She was hurting, slightly, but at the same time, his embrace was very comfortable. "Yes. Thank you." 

Hungary snorted with laughter at her politeness, but he tenderly kissed her cheek, and with a sigh, he heaved himself up; he slid out of her hurriedly enough to make her jerk in surprise, her teeth gritting. "Ouch- " 

"Oh- fucking hell," he said, his face flooding with guilt- enough to make him forget himself and swear, evidently. "I'm sorry- ah, I'm so sorry, is it bad? Damn it, I didn't think. I should have been gentler- " 

"It's not so- well- do you think you could- d-do something about it?" Austria drummed her fingers against the blankets, trying not to make a gigantic fuss, but really, a block of ice for her vulva would have been appreciated. Hungary scrambled up, and she noted his softened member with mild interest as he cast about for something, before he shoved it back in his breeches. She tried to sit up, but as she did so, she felt a wet, slippery sort of feeling, disgust wracking her as she wondered what it was. 

"Ah- no, don't move, Ausztria- " He'd found a cloth, and he hastily dropped to her side, quickly pressing it between her legs; she shied away from the touch, but she let him wipe away his... _deposit,_ making a face the entire time. "There, there- ah, you're bleeding a bit...I s'pose it couldn't be hel- " 

"I am _what?!_ " Hungary looked rather alarmed at her sudden yelp, raising a hand like he was warding off a wild animal, but _bleeding-_ he might have warned her sooner, even though...yes, she knew that that happened, it was just- she didn't expect it to happen to _her._ Unpleasant things like that happened to other unfortunates. It made the pain worse, somehow, knowing that it was an actual _injury._ Doubtless it would heal as fast as those dealt by swords and arrows for their kind, by the morning, perhaps, but that was beside the point. "I cannot- _believe-_ " 

She struggled up, her dress weighing her down, attempting to get a look at herself despite Hungary's efforts to stop her; she only caught a glimpse of red on the cloth he was holding, and that was more than enough. She wilted as fast as she had become enraged, collapsing back against her furs with a hand to her forehead. 

"Oh- Ungarn- you have _damaged_ me- " 

"A-Ausztria?" 

"I'm certain I can't walk!" 

"Please, Ausztria," he laughed, though he sounded slightly scared. "It's stopped already, I promise- it's only a little- " 

"I feel dreadful..." 

In the end Hungary was made to find a clean cloth and water ( _quite_ free of anything disgusting, he hurriedly assured her), and hold it as a cold compress between her legs for quite some time. To his credit, he was apologetic enough to reduce her wailing to mere sniffing in displeasure. 

He helped her out of her dress, careful with the fine fabric, and all her layers; he hung them from the wooden partitions, and Austria watched him, less sore now and less disgruntled, thinking he'd make a fine lady's maid. He had untied her stays, leaving her in her chemise to sleep. He had even offered to braid her hair neatly, but she declined, thinking to make him stroke it when he joined her in bed. Well, 'bed', but she supposed that if it was comfortable enough to lose one's remaining virginity on, it was comfortable enough to sleep on. That thought rolled around in her head, the idea that she was now different somehow, more different than after sleeping with Spain for the first time. 

She didn't actually feel any different. More confident about penises, perhaps. And injured. But that was about it, and it didn't seem like very much in the long run. She deeply suspected men were overrating themselves, as usual. 

But it had been enjoyable, and that was a thing to know. 

Hungary blew out the lamps, making his way back to her by the dim glow of the brazier. When he climbed into their nest, he pulled her close, shifting them both far into a corner. "Don't want you to roll into the fire," he explained, but Austria didn't see why she would roll away from him at all, even asleep. 

He wrapped her up in her fur cloak, and pulled blankets haphazardly over them both, but he was still curiously hot to the touch, and didn't seem to really need so much coverage. She was accustomed to sleeping as close to her partner as physically possible, and made an attempt, hoping she wouldn't bother him; she put her head in the crook of his neck, and groped around for his hand, tugging it in the direction of her hair. 

"Would you please?" 

"Mmhm." He was quick on the uptake, she did appreciate that. "Goodnight, Ausztria." 

"Goodnight," she mumbled, already not much use to anyone; she fell sound asleep with him running his fingers through her hair, and knew nothing more for hours and hours. 

\- 

Hungary woke to the sound of snow falling off the stable roof, and hooves gently pawing the ground. 

"Yeah, yeah," he yawned, as if the horse could understand his reluctance to get up. It was still dark in the barn, but a certain faint light seeped through any cracks. He had a vague idea of the time, but despite his work and a fair measure of self-discipline, he was not a naturally early riser, and he did not particularly care to move. The coal in the brazier was still glowing and warm, and he himself was wrapped in some very warm objects, including wool, fur, and Austria. 

That last one made the decision for him, and he stayed where he was, holding her gently as she slept on him. He had laid there for a while after she fell asleep, admiring her by touch, for he couldn't see much of her. Now, with the morning creeping into the stable, he could just make out her face; he found it exquisite, if he was honest with himself. And why shouldn't he be, now? The thought of what he'd done to her brought a red heat to his face, about twenty per cent shame, and all the rest simply satisfaction and pleasure, of a schoolboy sort. It hadn't been innocent, but what he felt for her was. Despite everything she stood for, and was, he liked her far too much for her own good. It made him sigh, toying with her hair, wondering what exactly she had done to worm her way into his heart. 

She had a rare beauty, that was true, but it wasn't that. If anything, she was far too beautiful for his liking. Even asleep and snuffling softly, her features were as delicate as a teacup. Hungary had always thought he liked unpretentious, outdoorsy, common girls. And he did, but here he was, like a dog after a- well, that was another thing. Austria wasn't the nicest person he had ever met. She had fine manners and could be very courteous, but she was sharp, smug and even a little spiteful at times, in that very classy way. On anyone else, perhaps it would have been reprehensible. Then there were her endless _needs._ She was witty and intelligent- cleverer than him by half, he thought- but at the same time, she was as dense as a doornail, and couldn't seem to look after herself worth a damn. He certainly never thought he would be picking up after her. She was spoiled rotten, and it wasn't a trait he particularly liked to see in anyone- 

-but Austria wriggled closer to him, making some soft little noise of contentment, and his heart beat out of his chest as he clutched her close. She was awfully soft to touch, but hard as steel; so warm in his arms that he could fall asleep again, and as coldly lovely as the snow that stretched for miles outside. Vulnerable- to fear and pain and embarrassment, however gentle he'd tried to be with her- but still an empire of the grandest kind, afraid of nothing. Hungary didn't know quite what, in all that, he liked the most, but she was somehow greater than the sum of her parts, to him. 

Maybe he wanted to be like her, in a way. The nobility she carried herself with was infectious. No one could honestly say they wouldn't like to be in her position. 

_Position_ made him think of other things, though, and he ducked most of his face back under the blanket to enjoy his recent memories. 

Austria stirred, after a while, and he watched her eyelashes flutter in the darkness, guessing she was probably disoriented; if he wasn't an early riser, he didn't know what to call her. A non-functional being. She made a noise of some sort, and groped around a bit, as if she couldn't fathom where she was or who she was with. 

"Morning, sleepy," Hungary teased, kissing her brow. It didn't garner any sort of cute reaction, just a mumble. "Ausztria. Are you awake?" 

"Nn," she said, which he took to be a no. Then- "Ungarn..." 

"That's right," he replied, cheerfully, careful not to raise his voice too much. "I think we may be snowed under." 

"Snow...oh." He could almost hear the click in Austria's head. Dense, yes, but not slow. "We stayed...the night." 

"We did." She still had her face against his neck, and her mumbling vibrated against his collar bone, making him laugh softly. "What else happened?" 

There was a lengthy pause before she finally answered. "You injured me." 

That had him spluttering outright, and he squeezed her, gratified to feel her crawl even further into his arms. "And how is the injured part, my lady?" 

" _Sore,_ " she hissed, but she seemed well enough to press up close to him, her legs twining with his. Which reminded him of something, and after a moment, she seemed to notice. "What is _that?_ " 

"Ah," he said, a little abashed, but amused all the same- she had never woken up with a man, of course. He found it rather sad that he was proud to be the first, but there it was. "It happens. Don't pay it any mind." 

"Are you insatiable?" she asked, a familiar, snooty tone to her muttered voice now. "I cannot possibly do it again." 

"There's no need- what, ever?" 

"Hmph." No answer. Well, he would just have to wait and see, but he suspected she would not hold out all that long. He'd felt her, dripping with her arousal, climaxing powerfully around him; his scalp had burned where she'd yanked on his hair, and there were welts still stinging on his back where she'd dug in her nails. Somehow her _enthusiasm_ hadn't surprised him one single bit. She was delicate as a winter flower, and twice as thorny. Perhaps he would have to revise his opinion on whether he could get at all rough with her. 

For the moment, he was still regretful about hurting her, wondering for a wild and dreamy moment what it would be like to be in Spain's position, able to do wonderful, wonderful things with abandon. Austria cut into his imagining, with her haughty sort of voice that said, _don't ignore me._

"When shall we return?" 

Hungary thought about it, a hand idly stroking Austria's back. "Depends on how deep it is out there. It's early yet, Ausztria. You go back to sleep, hm?" 

"They will be missing us," she protested, softly, already obviously sleepy. "They will think we are frozen in a ditch somewhere." 

"Will they?" 

"...Possibly," she conceded, and Hungary thought of her fanatical Emperor, and whether he was really the type to be able to think of anything but the war, right now. "Possibly, they will not be terribly concerned about us being frozen. I suppose they think we will thaw out in time." 

"Yeah, in spring," he snorted, cosying up with her. His administration couldn't find him half the time, they wouldn't start now. "Might worry about his Highness over there, I s'pose." 

"Oh, him," Austria said, her voice growing distant as she burrowed further and further under the covers. "Yes, he'll be missed more than me, I shouldn't wonder. I do hope...no one comes looking here for him." 

That was a sobering thought, but Hungary had firmly barred the doors, and besides, they were banked in with several feet of snow, if he was any judge. No one knew they were there...they would want to breakfast and bathe in something other than a bucket, soon enough, but there was no hurry for the time being. 

"We'll stay for a while," he suggested, and she hummed pleasantly in response, a quiet falling on the stable again. 

Though she broke it, after a few minutes. 

"Ungarn?" 

"Hm?" 

"I don't think I can ride this morning, in any case." 

\- 

A sort of peace reigned between Hungary and Austria, under their one crown; but around them, the wars raged, until it began to feel as though day would never break again. 

Austria was kept busy on every front, most days. For Hungary, when he wasn't required for something at either her court or on his own plagued borders, this meant idling, and quietly bemoaning the loss of the days they'd been able to spend carelessly with each other. They hadn't really had the time to enjoy what they'd started, and he supposed it was inevitable for them. He felt envious of Spain, able to share a perfect union with her, mostly by being absent a good percentage of the time, but that wasn't them. His relationship with Austria- not a marriage, perhaps a domestic arrangement- was closeness and conflict, friendship, and...something else. 

It was all right, in its way. She was letting him warm her bed, now, not just her stables. Whether he warmed her heart was a little harder to know, but he was content. 

But today she was tied up with Brandenburg. Some country Electorate ravaged by war and swiftly changing his loyalties, Hungary gathered. He didn't know the man, recognising him vaguely by his dignified bearing and dark hair, somewhat resembling Austria. What went on in the Holy Roman Empire was very little of his concern- what it did, Austria orchestrated, and what Austria did, he did not oppose. And despite his current living situation, he held a certain contempt for all these petty German states, currying favour with their liege lord. _He_ had achieved kingdomhood by his own mettle. It was how Austria ran things, however, and he left her to it. 

Brandenburg may have been a relative stranger, but he came with a familiar entourage. Not important enough to meet with Austria, but too important to leave behind. 

Hungary found him squatting down by a wall in the courtyard, doodling in the dirt with a stick. Well-dressed but mussed, as though he'd pulled at his collar and wiped dusty hands on his breeches. It was strange to see him at Austria's place, stranger still that he looked grown-up now...after a fashion. And he still stood out like a sore thumb with that pale blond hair. White wine in a sea of golden mead and dark beer. It was hard not to think of drink, when you thought of Germans. Hungary stared at him from a distance, frowning faintly; the boy was causing no trouble, but he probably _would,_ if Hungary approached him. 

It was too late to debate it, though, because Prussia noticed him, and stood slowly, waiting. He would regret this, Hungary knew, but sighing, he strolled over to greet someone he had once called a fr...a...well, a person he talked to sometimes. 

"Haven't seen your face for a good while," he said, lightly, and the young man snorted. 

"Haven't been welcome," he said, shrugging one shoulder. He leaned against the wall, shadowed by it, but his eyes retained their odd gleam, fixed on Hungary. He wasn't an easy man to unsettle, and he considered Prussia something of a joke, but he had to admit that it was a compelling stare. "How're you, _master_ of the house?" 

"Master?" Hungary approached, just to show that he didn't think of Prussia as a threat, however much the boy postured. He was short, slight and sickly, but even if he hadn't been, Hungary couldn't quite take a young duchy seriously. He leaned casually against an iron fence that protected some of Austria's flowers. "What's that mean?" 

Prussia laughed to himself, a humourless sound. Something about him felt very calculated, Hungary realised. Like he rehearsed all his mocking conversations, all the little affectations that went with them. He supposed people had plenty of time to do things like that when they weren't particularly important. "You're the only man around this part of the world, ain'tcha? _She's_ the mistress, and you're the master." 

"We're not married," Hungary replied, mildly. He had nothing to say about who exactly was the master of the Austrian Habsburg household, everyone knew who that was. He _was_ the only actual man in a (relatively) senior position, but _master_ was really pushing it, and besides, several households converged in Vienna, it was a confusing topic. "Wedding her to a woman slid by, but I feel like a mass marriage wouldn't get past the Pope." 

"So you're just sittin' on a harem up here, hah? Let's see- Österreich, Böhmen, Kroatien- who else- " Prussia counted on his fingers, grinning. "Or are you all _her_ concubines? Not so much of a man, eh?" 

It was pointless to react to the weak ribbing. He was probably _bored,_ and, well, Hungary had time to kill. "I'm surprised you know so many by name, I can hardly tell your lot apart. What are you up here for, hm? Your master- " 

"He's _not_ my fucking master- " 

" -changed his tune again, has he? Ah, sorry, your husband- " 

"He's not my fucking husband, either," Prussia snarled, like a dog too small and spoiled to actually bite. Or too weary, bags under his eyes like bruises. "Never you mind, it doesn't concern you, it's your wannabe-wife's business. You stay behind her skirts where you've decided you belong, Ungarn." 

Hungary laughed; he knew his own status too well to be insulted by anyone else over it. "Likewise, then, _Poroszország,_ " he said, the name still new on his tongue. "It's not you she'd deign to see." 

Prussia rolled his shoulder, his eyes wandering around, a sort of sulk around his mouth. He wasn't as battered as Brandenburg, or many others, but he was out of sorts, it was clear. Still, he didn't seem quite so twitchy as he had been, once. Becoming a fixed state had perhaps given him some stability- maybe even sanity, that would be something. "Yeah, whatever. You fucked the pretty princess yet, Ungarn?" 

That did catch him out, and Hungary tensed. " _What?_ " 

"I said," Prussia went on, and he wore a sly grin that still seemed somehow childish, dragging his words out. "Have you _fucked_ your little mistress yet, hah? 'Cause I heard- " 

"You watch your fucking mouth- " 

"I heard you were givin' it to her while the cat's away, and _good,_ I say- you give it to her good from me- " 

"You little bastard- " 

"Just like she's fucked the rest of us, with this fuckin' war!" Prussia gasped out, backing against the wall as Hungary rounded on him, but laughing even so at his own nasty joke. Just like always. He had a small point, about the war, but that wasn't enough to save him. Hungary grabbed him by the collar, lifting him nearly off his feet; he kicked and grabbed, but he was in no shape for a fight, not with someone a foot taller. Even Austria might've knocked him out if she tried. "You're pissed 'cause I'm right, Ungarn- " 

"I don't think you want to make a scene here, kid," Hungary said coolly, Prussia's temper flaring in his eyes at the word _kid._ "And you don't wanna be talking about this war when your boyfriend in there's trying so hard to keep you from it. You don't want to be turned away and sent back to look down the barrels of Swedish guns, do you? You might find out what it's really like, then." 

"Don't fuckin' talk down to me about war," Prussia hissed, his chest heaving as he tried to get away from Hungary's grip; his flight instinct had grown stronger since they'd last met, apparently. "You shoulda hired me for your last one, you might not've fuckin' _lost_ so God damn badly you had to kneel between that prissy bitch's legs to get out of it- " 

That was it; in a previous age Hungary would have slugged him, but instead he dropped him in disgust, watching him almost tumble to the ground, coughing. 

"Go wait for your people somewhere else, before I hand you over to the guards," he said, a forced calm in his voice; he brushed his coat off for good measure, feeling spitefully vindicated as Prussia dragged himself up, looking wary. "Your man's scraping and bowing at that prissy bitch's feet in there to save your skins, so don't get comfy. She holds grudges." 

He turned to leave, thumbs in his belt, but he paused suddenly, feeling like he should make a nice parting comment to this new, improved, form of the Teutonic Order, who wasn't worth hitting. "And I didn't service her in exchange for her help. That part's a bonus." 

He half-expected to hear Prussia cursing him out as he strolled away, but the only sound he caught was a frustrated huff, and the clang of a boot against an iron fence. 

Austria told him, later, in unflattering terms, how her audience with Brandenburg had gone, and particularly how he had left. Scolding his young _squire,_ as she put it, for wandering off, and proceeding to straighten the boy's hair and clothing. According to her, Prussia had screeched his displeasure to all and sundry and had to be physically bundled into a carriage. It really rather warmed Hungary's heart. 

\- 

Hungary had always been particular about bathing, boasting of his hot springs, and Austria appreciated it. He liked to say it was his influence on her, some sort of cultural trade that made her uncommonly enamoured of the bath, but she protested that. Perhaps it was some relic of her admittedly vague parentage, Roman cleanliness and Germanic vanity; she would comb and braid like a Viking, Hungary told her, but sit like a nymph in a room full of steam. Then there was Ottoman...neither of them liked to discuss him overmuch, but his habits crept through Hungary to Austria all the same. Never did she feel more _uniquely_ cultured than when she found herself imitating her enemies. 

And unlike Hungary she couldn't bear to _get_ dirty in the first place. If yards of clean linen stood for wealth, she was the richest woman in the world. Of course her treasury was a little dry, nowadays, extravagant personal purchases not a priority, and perhaps she made her dresses last a little longer than they remained fashionable, but she was in better shape, considering, than many of her contemporaries; and a good bath cost nothing. 

It was obvious, perhaps, as she stripped, that the long years of conflict had both touched her and missed her; she was tired, with shadowed eyes, and a little thinner than was usual, but neither bruised nor scarred. The devastation hadn't torn into her quite so much as it could have. Her conscience- which seemed to speak with Hungary's voice- made a point of telling her that it was always the powerful who could start wars, and suffer least from them. But then, that made her powerful, she replied. 

Hungary himself said nothing, sitting in the large wooden tub in her bathroom- only called that because it was an empty chamber with a fireplace, where the bath could fit. He lounged with his arms along the sides of the tub, watching her undress; his hair loose down his shoulders, longer, Austria thought, than it had been. She liked it an awful lot, the sheen of that bronze-like colour, shinier than even her own. He was perfectly still, and quiet, but he watched her with an expression that made him seem older, somehow. She might have been older, too, aged by the weight of the world, but more personally by the things they had gotten up to. 

Or she might have been as young as ever, according to the mirror when she glanced at it to check for the laces of her stays. Her hair spilled down her back, the severity of proper hairstyles banished, and that took years away; her face was round and unlined, her own oddly blue eyes large as they blinked back at her. The softness of her youth clung to her body despite the weight loss, her legs looking strangely slender but her breasts and belly still gently spilling from her stays as she removed them. Austria turned from the mirror, unabashed to meet Hungary's eyes while she pulled her shift over her head, her curves in motion. He smiled, but he didn't speak, rubbing a hand over his mouth; she raised an eyebrow, and followed his gaze. From her prominent breasts, to her neat waist- a path of beauty marks leading him that way- down over that stubbornly soft stomach, to a thatch of hair and a pair of wide hips. 

She broke his concentration by approaching, and he looked up at her, holding out a hand for her to steady herself while she climbed in with him. 

"Well?" she prompted, settling opposite him, her legs in his lap. "What are you thinking?" 

Hungary stretched back against the side of the bathtub again. "Nothing much." 

"That is not an answer." Austria reached down to the floor, knocking over bottles and jars with her groping hand until she found the one she wanted, and tipped the fragrant contents into the hot water; petals and buds spilled out slowly, coated in a thick syrup, and the heady scent of summer drifted on the steam. "What do you think, when you stare so?" 

"Ah." He was circling a hand in the water, stirring the concoction she'd poured in. Blue, pink, red. Austria picked up another bottle, full of yellow and green, and examined it. "I think that I like what I'm staring at." 

"Then stare," she replied, upending her bottle. This one smelled lemony and fresh, and she breathed it in. "What do you think now?" 

"I think you're trying to poison me." 

"I like it." She stopped herself before adding something minty, she had taste. "You know, I could just devour a peach." 

The scents of dripping, overripe fruit and rich sweet wines in her bath liqueurs made her think of it, but there was a hint of complaint in her tone, of depravation. Hungary sighed. 

"Tell it to the farmers and the traders..." His eyes were wandering down around her collar bone, or a little lower, as if he had peaches on his mind, too. The water only reached her ribs, and his height meant his abdomen was bare before her, deeply tanned. She had expected the novelty of lovers' nude forms to wear off, but it generally did not, it seemed, not in a hurry, anyway. The novelty of _marriage_ was fading, but the experience of having a _cicisbeo_ breathed life into it again, somehow. Perhaps this was how the less pious wives at her court dealt with the boredom. _She_ had an understanding with Spain, though- their union was sacred, special, but the nations they _gathered_ to themselves separately were tolerated, and somewhat legitimised. Not that Austria was currently on sleeping terms with, say, Bohemia, but still. It was the way their kind had to make sense of the customs they participated in. 

She was closer to Hungary than she was to Spain, that was reality, his lands locked against her own, borders vague and overlapping, just as surely as their limbs entwined in the water. He was here, at her side, while Spain fought furiously with France far away- something she appreciated, to be certain, though she suspected the battle between them had turned personal more than protective of Austria's interests. She eyed Hungary through the steam, musing on it all, and watching him absent-mindedly run his hand up her leg. 

"When this is all over and done with," she said, something she had been saying for years now, "we ought to look eastward." 

He was drawn out of his daze, tilting his head at her before responding slowly. "We should concentrate on what's before us, first, Ausztria." 

She knew he saw no swift end to the fighting that had taken Europe like a deadly pestilence, but the old Emperor was dead and his son had some sense about him, and Austria had other ideas; once France was taken care of, she thought, that would be the turn of the tide. 

"It _is_ before us, whether we pay attention or not," she insisted; before _him,_ she meant, though she was not unmolested by bold Ottoman campaigns herself. It concerned her, the idea that while her eye was fixed on her immediate surroundings, and threats from the west, that the Turks were free to scheme behind her. She was eager to oust them from Hungary, before they got too used to owning half of him, something she feared had already happened to a degree. And the idea that Ottoman might come to him with some arrangement more agreeable than hers- as he had tried with Transylvania- was an ever-present threat, a great unspoken stain on their relationship; it spread on the map like spilled wine, a dreaded influence creeping towards Royal Hungary. She would never let that happen, that betrayal. Not after all this. "You must be sick of this...partition." 

"I won't lie," he said, his voice quiet and steady, but weary. "I hate to be _contested._ " 

It was his pride speaking, as a kingdom cut into pieces for others to fight over. Though the alternative had been total domination by one party or another, perhaps this was worse; Austria felt that, at least, her domination would have been by invitation. It was the way she liked to do things, and why she had arranged those weddings, over a century prior. Certainly he had agreed, in that moment, to let her lords succeed to his throne, and he had never agreed to have Ottoman rage at his borders. It would have been a gentle sort of possession, had she gotten there sooner. Perhaps he would have even been her consort. 

"You won't be, when we are through," Austria said, persuasive in voice and body, the water splashing as she moved close to him. She felt him looking at her lips before he found her eyes, no humour in his expression. And she _knew,_ despite her inner spiel, that what he wanted most was not the lack of contest he would find under her complete rule; what he wanted was to rule himself alone again- ah, but he was a hypocrite, and would probably want to keep Bohemia, Croatia and all the other little lands they'd collected. She wouldn't let him have that. But she would fight for him, with him, and perhaps that was only pragmatism to the rest of the world, but she liked to think it meant more between the two of them. It was uncertain, the feeling she felt about him; she only knew she wanted to keep him, and keep him close. 

"Then let's make plans," he said, finally, and his arms reached to welcome her as she pressed into his space, her long hair dragging through the water. She straddled him, and rested her arms on his shoulders, her fingers threading in his damp hair. 

"Not now," she said, and he laughed softly, the sound dreamy and unreal in the humid room, pleasing to her ears. He took hold of her face, one-handed, a thumb stroking her cheek firmly as though he was examining her more than caressing her, witness to the darkness beneath her eyes. 

"Sleep more," he told her, his arm encircling her waist and pulling her against his chest. Austria leaned on him, pouting with eyes downcast, refusing the advice; nighttime was peaceful for her, when it wasn't interrupted with bad news, and she would rather spend it with her harpsichord. 

Or him. 

"I do sleep, every morning, and you know it well." 

"Ah, only when you're worn out, then?" 

They shared a look, knowing on his end and falsely demure on hers, before she pushed her lips against his. He still burned to the touch, in her mind, all hot springs and glowing embers, and she sank into him, the fire that kept her from freezing over. They could worry about the future another night, she thought, selfishly; they could put off acknowledging what it was they wanted of each other, and focus on how they _wanted_ each other. 

Hungary seemed to agree, his hands wandering down her body, powerful arms keeping her safe in his grip; there might have been a desire, in the way he squeezed and palmed her, handfuls of her flesh, to reverse their roles. To keep her as she kept him, to be the lord she'd once accused him of being, and take his queen. Surely, then, he understood her, on the level of blood and instinct. To the victors go the spoils, and to the opportunists, control. And that was on her mind, _control,_ as her hand slid down his wet chest, down the planes of his abdomen, to grasp his cock under the water. There was a time she had let him lead, and times still she was comfortable to give herself to him, to let him take control of her body in perfect trust; but she had also learned to push him down, and make him _watch_ her. 

He groaned into her ear as her grip tightened, shifting under the water. Wet hands roamed her body, rough warrior's hands that dug into her delicate skin, friction making her rise on her knees. They caught in her hair as Hungary reached for the back of her neck, tilting her back to suck at her throat and her breasts, but Austria wouldn't be distracted- she pushed at his shoulder, and he lay back against the rim of the bathtub, hard and tight now in her hands. 

"Careful, duchess," he said, his hips lazily pressing into her caresses, far more expert now than they had been. She raised her eyebrows, looking every inch his mistress, even dripping wet. 

"Why should I be?" 

He gave her an appreciative sigh, but he shook his head, not one too play too much into her power fantasies. "Careful in the water, for your sake, I mean." 

Austria tilted her head curiously at this cryptic warning, positioning herself now over his lap, a steadying hand on his shoulder as her fingers briskly stroked him. They had never done precisely this in her bath- he had bent her over in it, once, an experience in itself with his great _prowess,_ a little too great for her, but- 

"Hm- " Her hips dipped below the water surface, the warmth dulling other sensations, but she was nicely heated herself, arousal in the flush of her skin and the ache of her core, and she would have her way, if he didn't mind. She leaned against him as she pressed his tip to herself, searching, and he was kind enough to hold her up by her buttocks; a thoughtful pause later, she admitted him, and made to sink down, but a discomfort stopped her. "Ah- oh." 

"It's not, ah," Hungary began, a chuckle in his voice as he gently helped her adjust. "It's not the best medium- a little bit _resistant-_ " 

"And you _knew_ this, did you?" Austria accused, soft as she focused, the friction slowly giving to let her take him further. It was spoiling her plans again, reality, but she was more interested in who exactly he had taken to the hot springs to find something like that out. 

Of course he failed to answer. "Here, slowly..." 

His fingers found her clit, gentle on her as they massaged her, pressing firmly into her flesh. She rocked into it, eyes closed; it would be nice to tell herself that he was obediently pleasing her, and not showing himself to be more worldly than her yet again. But it didn't really matter, she supposed, as she eased herself down, on to his cock and into his embrace. She wasn't made to be wholly forceful. She was made to be persuasive. 

"Not hurting?" Hungary whispered, his voice taking on that lovely quality that proved even he was not always controlled and cool-headed, his pleasure showing in his face as he aided her rolling hips, slow and indulgent. Austria shook her head, for what felt like the hundredth time. She would almost swear he was trying to draw attention to his impressive gift, but he hadn't hurt in years. No, it wasn't pain written in her features, the open mouth that brushed Hungary's, the fluttering lashes and creased brow. It was funny to think she had feared it once, funnier still to think of her early delusions of devoted wifehood. 

"You know, Ungarn," she gasped, suddenly, her arms around his neck, "Spanien did bring her lover to see me, can you imagine?" 

"Lover?" he laughed, and it became a groan, his fingers possessive on her thighs. "Portugália?" 

"Yes, I nearly slapped her- but he was most- agreeable- " 

"You can't slap people for doing what you..." Hungary trailed off breathlessly, realising the point, and he pushed her hips down hard, her moan self-indulgent and gratified in his ear. "Agreeable- ha- " 

"Very courteous, very flattering..." Her hands were clutching his hair, and close to her face it had a scent all its own, despite the thick perfume of the room. "We had dinner- " 

" _Oh,_ " came the reply, and Hungary bucked his hips, holding her like she anchored him to reality; he sounded amused, somewhere under the fervent hunger for her. "And was it good?" 

Austria answered with a vague affirmative, lost in her low cries, but she caught her breath enough to kiss him soundly and laugh against his lips. "You should also have dinner with my _wife_ and I- " 

"You _are_ kind, milady," he breathed, and they laughed in stilted gasps, wrapped around each other in the sweetest paroxysms; perhaps it was immoral, but no one ever rose to be an empire on a path of good intentions, and lesser kingdoms only look innocent by comparison. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spot the anachronistic terms (cicisbeo, for one).30 years' war, Iberian union, etc. next time there's more Prussia (much, much more).


	3. high society (going up by going down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you lose things, replace them. This is a sweet story of getting-to-know-you- and one big rebound- and a hidden agenda- and a bad idea- and a lot of fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> early 1700s. very PruAus. very...long... also, there's PruFra and an OC Brandenburg makes a full appearance.

She didn't know what it was like, to have a broken heart. Much was made of having one, in songs and books, and Austria wondered if humans were exaggerating, or if she might ever find out how it felt.

She thought she might come to know, as her Empire tried its hardest to collapse around her, and Spain left her, forced out by an impossible situation. But she did not. She wasn't broken by it. And it was hard to say if the feeling that realisation brought her was relief, or sorrow. 

Still, she thought, one did not need to break to grieve. She had thought, at first, that she was numb to it; that the long years of warnings, the constant vigilance against French expansion, had prepared her for the loss, and that she would deal with it as she dealt with every inconvenience. It was only when Hungary took advantage of her back being turned that she felt it, but by then, she had lost sight of who she was mourning. 

"I'm sorry," he'd said, and seemed to mean it. Austria wasn't sure why, he had made it clear he was unhappy with how she dealt with the Ottomans, how empires had to treat with one another over the territory they disputed. Perhaps he thought it outrageous, insulting, the way she had conceded this and that, instead of refusing any and all compromise, ousting the invaders entirely. But she had reality to think of, French whispers in Turkish ears, her own walls battered and besieged. Ottoman was a force to be reckoned with, and her army had its limits, no matter how she strove to muster soldiers from any corner of her vast kingdoms. 

But then, treaties or no, Ottoman had still attacked again and again, obviously firm in his intentions and caring very little for her Western formalities, it seemed. In that light her concessions did look to be made in vain, and at such a cost, if now even Hungary could not tolerate her. 

"Don't be sorry," she told him, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "You are not the first to turn on me- not even the first in this century- !" 

"Auszstria, you promised me," Hungary cut in, and he sounded angry, in a righteous, measured way that set Austria's teeth on edge. "You said you'd fight for me and you fought _over_ me- what was the point, to establish dominance with him? Because it certainly wasn't to liberate me. Is it any wonder that my people took exception- " 

"Conspired," Austria said, simply, and Hungary fell quiet, his eyes burning. "You know well that I do not respond to cloak-and-dagger business with any fondness." 

"And would you have listened, if I'd brought it to you in the open?" 

She did not answer, drumming her fingers against the windowsill and looking out, from the high, private tower room, out to fields and woods that stretched from her home to his. She could not quite think of them as sharing one space, though she recognised it as an impulsive, reactive thought; she wanted Hungary to remain at her side, she truly did. But he must remain _at her side._ It was regrettable to have to remind him of it, with sanctions and prohibitions and punishments, but she could not abide backstabbing. 

Austria would accept, however, that it was this approach that had bred his current aggravation, and his plans; for him to strike out at her himself was not shocking, not even with the intimacy they had enjoyed just a short time before. But there was one thing she could not tolerate, and it made her punitive, all regret for him and his powerless people pushed aside. 

"I would have listened to you, Ungarn," she said, slowly, not turning back to him, "but I will not have Frankreich attacking me from all sides." 

There was silence, a shifting sound as, perhaps, Hungary gave into a rare urge to fidget uncomfortably. "All military efforts need support." 

"French support, Ungarn? You know she will abandon you." She wheeled around, now, her blood-red gown rustling and swaying anxiously. "That is, if she does not sell you to Osmane- she would not think to try and take you for herself, I imagine, it is too _provincial_ in this part of the world, for her." 

"Is that why _you_ think nothing of buying and selling like a merchant in my lands, Ausztria?" He had been far across the room from her, repelling contact with his very stance, though she suspected it was more for her sake- he would not make himself a personal threat to her, and it touched her even as it angered her, his maturity as he asserted his kingdomhood against her. But now he stepped forward, approaching, not in threat but in earnestness, she felt. It occurred to her to shrink against the window, refuse this, but that would be the wrong approach- instead, she met him halfway, until she had to look up into his eyes once more. 

"I count _myself_ in this part of the world, Ungarn," she said, her eyes fierce and her mouth set, willing him to believe her. She would not say it, but she did not think Hungary provincial, no more than herself; he was a wild king, foreign and familiar, and she loved his rough nobility, respected his proud bearing. In his folk songs and his poems there were woven rich histories, older than she was. Austria did not look down upon him, but there was no way to say this that did not sound false. "We share that much, you know it. We have always been of the same foundation." 

He stared down at her, almost despairingly as if he wanted to say something- _no, we haven't, Ausztria,_ she imagined- but instead he sighed, and though her heart leapt at it, he surprised her by leaning down to her. His forehead gently touched hers, and he closed his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, for your loss," he said, quietly. 

She had never had those words addressed to her, Austria. No human would see the point, or know she had lost anything. No nation, she felt, would particularly care. Except for him. 

Austria did not realise why he was touching her face, until a tear rolled over his thumb and down her cheek. It was so startling that she simply stood, eyes blinking quickly to rid herself of this new weakness. Oh, she had cried before, the rumours of her being an automaton were not true, but not over Spain. Not over this. And not in front of him, now. 

"I am sorry," Hungary said again, a hand under her jaw as he pressed his cheek to hers; Austria unfroze, slightly, and pressed back, her fingertips grazing his shirt as she reflexively reached out. It was as though some part of her recognised the urgent need to hold on to his caress, that she might not feel it again- and she attached no time limit to that, not after Spain's departure, final and permanent. It didn't bear thinking about, _Hungary_ gone from her reach forever, but it was what she _had_ to think about, and why she had every intention, when it came to it, of putting his rebellion down. He knew that; he knew it just as well as he knew he was going to do everything he could to stop her. 

He took her hesitant hands in his own, as if he'd understood her gesture. 

"Do what you must," Austria said, at length. It wasn't a reproach. She would curse him for his betrayal, later, but today she recognised it. Hungary sighed, and pulled back from her face, raising her hand to his lips; his kiss there was firm, lingering. 

"I will," he said, "and so will you." 

She wept into the windowseat, after he left, the urge creasing her face and bending her body until she crumbled under it. It wasn't wholly clear to her, what was she was crying about, a hundred minor things flooding along after the obvious culprits and each bringing a fresh wave of quiet sobbing, until there was nothing left in her. But the important thing, she told herself, was that it meant she had a heart to break- though still, she insisted, it would _not._

\- 

England's speech went on and on; he wasn't such a bad public speaker, but he hadn't the grace and sophistication of a real actor, which would have come in handy, considering he was mostly spouting falsehoods about their wonderful _Grand Alliance_ and how none of them would double-cross each other. He was quite right, though, when he took pains to stress how they should conduct warfare in a less...calamitous manner than they had over fifty years ago; the scars of that conflict had yet to fully heal, and Brandenburg still wasn't over it. 

Prussia, however, was doing all right, if he did say so himself. 

He didn't approve of terrorising peasants, that much was true, but apart from that, he thought, war was war. And checking France's horrible ambitions, well, that was more a personal thing, to him. The last time he'd been alone with that woman, she'd put her hand down his breeches and, all right, he hadn't _hated_ it- and he didn't really _hate_ her ambition, either. It just gave him a chuckle to see her thwarted. She wasn't a nice woman, in his book, in fact she was a dreadful, sniping wench, and he could sort of respect that, but he wasn't going to actually let her win, if he could help it. She did dress well, though. 

And so did Prussia, now, after a few pointers and some occupational hazards of the groping kind. A long, full-skirted silver coat topped his embroidered green waistcoat, his knee-breeches tighter than they needed to be and his shoes glittering, giving him a few inches with their heels. He had seen a few heads turning when he entered (late), and tipped his tricorne jauntily in return, but what really interested him was Austria's reaction. She had eyed him from head to toe, without much regard for his face; then she'd simply looked away again, returning to her brooding contemplation of the speeches, her chin resting on her hand. 

She was politely applauding England's incensed diatribe against all things French, which he was getting rather carried away with, but no one there seemed to mind, least of all Austria. Prussia clapped heartily with everyone else, his French lace cuffs jostling ironically. He had mostly tuned the point of the meeting out, it was Brandenburg's concern; he sat next to his far more austerely dressed brother (for that was what he _was,_ thank you, despite everyone liking to point fingers at the technicalities of their union), but his eyes were focused across the room, on the handmaiden to the Empire, or whatever she really was. 

He had to admit, she had power. If it had been up to him, when suing for the Elector's kingship, he would have gone to the little boy Empire himself and tried to bribe or cow him into handing over absolute autonomy (he had inflated ideas of the Holy Roman Empire's affection for him), but Brandenburg had overruled that. Instead they sweet-talked Austria, who happened to need military assistance; and just like that, she had made it happen. King _in_ Prussia...for now. 

So, she was powerful, and she could be persuaded to give him things, in return for a bit of mercenary work, which was nothing new to him. And, he noted, as he watched carefully- the way she barely moved in her seat, but how compelling and graceful it was when she did- she was very attractive. Not merely pretty or dolled-up the way so many women of her class were, but striking, as he fancied himself to be. Flouting the fashion for light-coloured hair, with her long, stark curls, a jewelled chain worn on her forehead calling her crown to mind. Her dress, however, was impeccably in style, a mantua in a pale coffee colour offset with the most delicate white lace and shining brown patterns. It made her look like a confection, but the sweetness was all a fiction, Prussia knew. 

He sort of wanted to taste it, anyway. Whatever that meant to a barely-civilised young man who knew nothing more of women than what France had shoved in his face, and what he'd haltingly paid for (not a whole lot, yet). He would often get caught up in the exuberance of much more seasoned soldiers- and he knew _all_ about soldiers, of certain persuasions. Soldiers, grooms, errand boys. Too like himself to faze him. But ladies had never figured much into his lifestyle thus far, he didn't understand them, however much he looked at them. And Prussia did not like to do anything he could not do _perfectly._

His mounting interest, then, was a difficult thing. He didn't need a whore, who would do anything and tell him whatever she thought he'd like to hear (although, he didn't entirely discount the appeal of that). Nor did he didn't need France and her incredible wealth of experience shaming him. He needed a woman, a _lady,_ if he could by some miracle get one, who actually cared about what he was doing to her, and had manners, and wouldn't lie, but would very gently correct him so as not to destroy his fragile ego. And he needed to be educated, in detail, according to the rigorous standards of his neurosis. He might have asked Poland for information; she had spoken to him bluntly about this and that in the past, but he had never really pressed her enough when he had the opportunity. Unfortunately she wasn't speaking to him now, which was utterly childish of her. 

He was regretting every bit of his personal life, now, in the presence of Austria. He knew her, but hardly knew her; he had absolutely no place thinking of her in any way but as _Empire_. And all the same, an impulse that he barely understood reacted to her. Her grandeur, it must have been, her majesty, pulling at something newly blossomed in him. Kingdomhood, he thought. The pull of power, from one to another. He decided that was what it felt like, despite his very shaky claim to said power, unable to conceive of mere beauty and grace stirring an animal interest. It had never really happened to him before. 

When he got a handle on his wandering mind at last, he realised the speech was finally giving way to refreshments, England stumbling off with awkwardly proud bowing and nodding. Prussia took the opportunity to sidle from his seat- Brandenburg caught it, and hissed at him from where he was seeking out a glass of wine, most ineffectively. Prussia looked him right in the eye as he ignored him. He wandered over to Austria, circling around to approach her from behind, for effect. The thought of _not_ making a move hadn't even had the chance to enter his mind. 

"Hallo," he said, grinning, and dropping into the vacated chair at her side. She looked at him as if he were a different species. Then she looked around him, as if she expected to see Brandenburg holding his leash. 

"Hello, Preußen," she eventually replied. She was looking at him with a kind of cautious curiosity, yet she seemed unbothered, as only one of her status could. Prussia wondered which part of him she was taken with, the gleaming sunrise in his eyes, or the sharp white of his teeth. He was an incredibly handsome man, as he would tell anyone in earshot, all chiseled nose and full lips, and Austria's stare pleased him. Her silence, on the other hand, did not, and he itched to fill it within moments. 

"Good turnout, eh?" As if it was a party, and not a serious meeting, but that never stopped them. A servant passed with a tray, and he swiped some champagne, remembering he needed two glasses just in time. "Here, aren't you thirsty? I'm fuckin' parched." 

"More than I expected," Austria murmured, almost to herself, but she suddenly perked up at the glass he was thrusting at her, and it was as if she had never said anything; as if she hadn't meant to. She took the champagne with a gracious nod. "And how are you? _Königreich._ " 

She was mocking him, Prussia could hear it clearly in her soft voice, but he couldn't have cared less. He might not yet have been a kingdom on any level she actually respected, but the more she gave him, even derisively, the more she empowered him. He threw back half his champagne, and smiled wide. 

"I'm wonderful," he said, proudly. "You weren't expecting to still have friends in high places, huh? Times change, y'know, people stop giving a shit about how it used to be. 'Sides nobody dislikes you as much as they hate Frankreich." 

He didn't really mean to be insulting _or_ comforting, but she blanched anyway, then almost, it seemed to him, smirked over the rim of her glass. "Yes, so I gather. Even Portugal recently jumped ship from their little Latin love nest." 

There was a self-satisfied air to the way she said that, a memory in her eyes as she scanned the room, and Prussia wasn't sure what to make of it, so he said nothing. 

"Still, though," he continued, leaning close to her over the arm of his chair; she was stiffly upright next to him, it must have been her corset. "You must've been worried, hah? Spanien gone from under your nose, like that." He snapped his fingers, and watched her stare at them, passively. She was very interesting, her eyes blue as lazurite pigment, intense and dreamy. "I don't blame you for marchin' on that hag, after that kinda highway robbery, hah! Then I heard Ungarn packed his bags again, Jesus, timing. It's like they wanna bankrupt you or somethin'- " 

"I don't want to talk about that." 

It took Prussia a few seconds to even understand that Austria had responded, she caught him so off-guard with her tone. It was sharp in the way that a dull ornamental blade, or an iron poker, was still quite sharp in the scheme of things. It interested him- amused him, nearly, but it was more than that- so of course he pushed his luck. 

"Which one, the French bitch or your stablehand? I get it, you're still pissed- listen, it's natural when people turn on y- " 

He choked to a halt as her hand shot out like a snake, beautiful fingers gripping his jaw enough to hurt. No nails, but the strength in her fingertips was shocking, he could feel the red marks she would leave behind on his face. Too stunned to move, Prussia stared, into cool eyes, inexplicably punishing with their calm, steady gaze. 

"I do not," Austria murmured, no longer even bothering to be sharp about it, "want to talk about that." 

Then she let him go, and sipped her champagne, and around them the meeting-turned-party mumbled along without interruption. Prussia whipped his head around wildly for a moment, wondering if anyone had seen that, or if he'd dreamed it in some bizarre fantasy. She was acting as though nothing had happened, he couldn't imagine having such a talent. 

"...Christ in Heaven," he eventually grumbled, slouching down in his chair and rubbing his jaw, rolling his head around and looking at her from the corner of his eye. Appraisingly, if sulkily. She was so interesting. "I'm on _your_ side, y'know, God." 

"Hmm." A very humouring _hmm,_ since she knew full well he was only helping out in exchange for privileges; but then, from his perspective, _Brandenburg_ was really his representative, and he had nearly always been in the Emperor's pockets. Prussia wasn't interested in pretending to be a loyal dog, but he was interested in pushing the closeness he'd been suddenly afforded to its limit. He wanted to know her; how she ticked, because it would be useful, and what she thought, because it would make him feel important. Austria was far, far more important than he had ever dreamed of being- until his present ennoblement, that is. But to him, at the same time she was a glittering spectacle in a faraway palace, she was still a chubby little girl who fell on her backside and needed Bavaria to spoonfeed her. It was a strange kind of dissonance, to see her every inch an empress in front of him now. 

Stranger still to him to want to be around her, with her icy reputation, that tone of hers in official correspondence that screamed out her superiority. But he liked superiority; he wanted some for himself. 

"...What _do_ you wanna talk about, then, Princess?" 

Austria looked at him slowly, her eyes narrowed to puzzle him out, and he gave her a guileless grin, far too casual in his chair for his rich clothing. Her expression was impassive; if Prussia had been a more understanding person, he might have thought she was trying to work out if, and why, he was trying to befriend her. But he had less knowledge of friendship than even she did. 

At length, Austria's glance slid back to the middle of the room, where the Netherlands- half-cut if Prussia was any judge, a stein in his hand- was saying _something,_ utterly deadpan. 

"Well," she finally said, in that melodious voice, "we might talk about how dreadful our compatriots are at making speeches, particularly concise ones." 

He lit up; on that subject, Prussia felt he could go for hours, oblivious to the irony of it. At least _he_ was funny, he thought. He whiled away the rest of the afternoon whispering commentary in Austria's ear, until she began to occasionally cut in with a surprisingly witty remark of her own, leaning close to murmur in a way that made the back of his neck tingle. Perhaps it was the flowing champagne, but he thought he saw the ghost of a smile on her pretty lips, now and again. There was no doubt after that; he was definitely hilarious. And maybe- though he lacked the introspection required to fully acknowledge it- what he actually needed in a woman was a _challenge._

\- 

The _King of the Vandals,_ as she'd memorably named him, sought a proper audience with Austria- without his guardian, and without the Holy Roman Empire. The former did not surprise her, after his antics at their last meeting, avoiding supervision as much as humanly possibly. The latter did, however. She was used to him begging, demanding and otherwise trying to speak to the boy instead of her- when he was even allowed into the room alongside Brandenburg, something all parties actively tried to prevent. 

Austria suspected it had more to do with how Prussia thought kingdoms and empires consorted with each other. He was not, she had to allow, entirely off-base with his assumptions, but he was adding himself to that number rather prematurely. She was somewhat sequestered from much of the world, and social pitfalls still abounded for her, but she was not stupid, and she knew when she was being flirted with. Abysmally, for that matter. 

But he had amused her, a little, at a point when she would have said she sorely needed amusement, if she'd been the type of person to go in for that sort of thing. She wasn't, but she'd come away feeling slightly less empty, all the same. 

It was this vague sense of gratitude that led her to relent, and perhaps a mild tolerance for someone she held deeply embedded memories of, going back further than crusades and further than names. 

Austria received him in an audience chamber, properly; a small mimicry of the Emperor's hall, with a grand chair for her to sit in (borrowed, it seemed, from a dining room of ages past). She wore an ermine shrug for the occasion, and spent a minute or two sitting and standing repeatedly to properly situate her skirts, until she was finally satisfied. She gave a nod, and the message flew between trusted servants; Prussia was escorted in by guards who were taller than he was, although in fairness, not by much. 

It was obvious he didn't appreciate that detail even from across the room, and he gave them a pouty sort of frown as they bowed out, adjusting his collar and cuffs defensively. He had dressed to kill again, this time in black with a crimson waistcoat. It was a touch stark, but it suited him; Austria had an eye for finery and art, and she was silently appreciative as Prussia approached. With a swagger, she had to note, but the figure he cut was handsome. His face was fine-featured, delicate colouring softening his otherwise sharp bone structure, and though from a distance his eyes merely looked grey, the hint of that odd pigmentation peeped out from between his white eyelashes. Perhaps it was something medical- Austria eschewed superstition at this point of her life- but perhaps it was merely something unique to him. He _was_ strange among their kind. 

The distance closed quickly, Prussia had no concept of waiting to be invited forward. His eyes twinkled like red stars as he waltzed right up to her, a foot on the step of her platform- she had insisted on elevation. And she was glad of it, frowning down at him. 

"Thanks for havin' me- " 

"There is a _protocol_ to this, you know," Austria protested, sullenly. "There is a script one ought to follow." 

"Well, where I come from, Princess, people put out chairs for guests," he said, looking around for one and coming up empty-handed. He opened his arms in a shrug, smiling- he seemed always to be smiling or scowling. "Should I sit on your lap?" 

"You requested an _audience,_ " Austria reminded him, loudly so as to drown that last remark out. "Not to take tea with me. I made arrangements with that in mind." 

Prussia looked bemused, and she wondered if he'd forgotten his own request. "Well, yeah, but I just wanted to come visit. Audience, teatime, it's all the same. _So,_ Österreich- " 

"It is _not_ the same, and you had just better familiarise yourself with the difference." She drew herself up in her chair, intending to look imposing, and not liking the humouring look on Prussia's face at all. "Now, since we have _dispensed with the formalities,_ I suppose you can go on and state your business, Preußen." 

"You can sit on _my_ lap." 

"Preußen." 

"All right, all right," he said, laughing, brushing down his unbuttoned coat; he wore black gloves, Austria noted. That was right; the Electress- or _Queen,_ she supposed, now- had passed, and the entire state had been in mourning, but...wasn't that _over?_ Besides, she had never known such a bright red waistcoat to be part of anyone's mourning gear. "In truth, Princess, I've come to talk about something so sad, I'm not sure I can even say it..." 

Austria narrowed her eyes warily. Prussia's face had taken on a solemn, sensitive look, as if he might burst into tears at any second; he took his hat off (as he should have before he entered the room) and held it sadly to his chest. The sombre pause went on for what felt like minutes, until Austria was tensed up in her seat. 

"...Ye- " 

"The Queen kicked the bucket," he cried, finally, a wobble in his voice that sounded awfully like supressed laughter, "and Bran's still cryin' about it and no one wants to mourn with us! It's seriously pathetic, Princess, you should see him. Frankreich cut him up just like that, no dice. And I came here to see if our friends in Vienna would honour the poor dead lady and look at you!" 

She was too stunned to respond as he gesticulated towards her, and she looked down at herself; her gown was what they used to call Tyrian purple, a deep and dazzling pink- though of course it was faked with indigo and red, rather than ancient snails. With the diamond necklace and the fur shawl, perhaps it was all a bit colourful, but for Heaven's sake, no one in _Austria_ had died. Prussia looked gleefully offended. 

"You look more like the top courtesan than the chief mourner, what happened to solidarity with fellow royalty, hah?!" Austria bristled at that, but Prussia had a glint in his eye. "What happened to _acknowledging_ the grief of my _King-_ " 

"The same thing that happened to propriety, I believe, when he took on that dreadful mistress," Austria interrupted, snorting contemptuously; she had held off on writing an incensed letter to Brandenburg over the horrendously low-class affair, but she'd heard whispers of the woman's ambitions of queenship, and she was really going to have to put her foot down over that. Daughters of inn-keepers were one thing, but when they took such glee in breaching etiquette... "Your poor dear Queen was chased to her grave by such disrespect, I shouldn't wonder." 

"Well, she's not in her grave yet, exactly," Prussia said, scratching his chin, and Austria made a face. "You should be a little kinder to Madame de Wartenberg, she's just a simple backwater girl who happened to be born ambitious, conniving, unscrupulous and vicious enough to get somewhere in life, don't that sound familiar- " 

" _Madame de Wartenberg,_ " Austria scoffed, a dragonish irritation consuming her now and making her nostrils flare. "Your French pretensions absolutely disgust me, I'd like you to know. If you must adopt such vulgar traditions, you might do it a touch more competently. Get rid of that hussy and install a woman with some dignity, please." 

"Oi, blame Brandenburg for that mess- listen, there's nothin' wrong with a mistress and a wig here and there, fashion is the way forward now that we're _a kingdom-_ " 

"And you might get yourself a Crown Prince who can spell at the same time, if ever you wish to make something of that!" 

Austria was on her feet now, and very nearly stomped them in emphasis, Prussia's incessant mocking grin doing nothing to hide the shameless plugging of his new status. He might have smiled, but his eyes were narrowed and burning, desperate, she thought, for some respect. Well, he wouldn't get it from her by clownishly imitating Versailles. He opened his mouth, perhaps searching for an appropriate insult to fire back with, but they were interrupted by the sound of a door being shoved open with some difficulty. 

"What are you doing in here? Why wasn't I invited?" A small body in the the most unfittingly elaborate court dress came barging in, and Austria sat back down with a sigh. The Holy Roman Empire bustled right up on to her platform on his stubby legs, with the singlemindedness of either a small child or an elderly king. 

"It's nothing for _you_ to concern yourself with," she grumbled, watching the boy put his hands on his hips, lost under swathes of black velvet and gold brocade. He wasn't having any of her dissuasion, staring down at Prussia in a scrutinising fashion. Prussia smiled hopefully at him, but he only cleared his throat and pointed. 

"Königreich Preußen," he said, rather sonorously for having such underdeveloped vocal cords, "you will explain your presence in our house immediately and stop shouting when you speak because I can hear it from the kitchen- " 

Prussia's smile fled, replaced by scrunched-up annoyance. "The kitchen, hah? Stuffing your piggy little face, were you?!" 

"Shut up, you idiot! Explain yourself!" 

"I'll explain myself when you explain why you ignored my last three letters, you little brat- " 

"Miscreant! Fool! Address me properly! _Ass-headed halfwit-_ " 

"That is quite enough of that," Austria cut in, tugging on the back of the Empire's coat, until he tottered back to her chair; she felt like attaching leading strings to his clothing, at times. "Imperium Romanum, behave yourself at once." 

"Yeah, _Imperium Romanum,_ behave yourself at once," Prussia mocked, sticking out his tongue at the child, who reciprocated, before clambering into Austria's lap- to feel taller, she assumed. It irked her, but she allowed it, concerned more with Prussia's intention to prolong the spat. "Did you learn those words from Mutti- " 

"And _you,_ Preußen, ought to act like a man and not an infant," she cut in, before the Empire could shout profanities. "You are a kingdom unto the edge of your own borders, and do not forget it. Act with some decorum in my house." 

He looked like he was going to argue, so she held up a hand. "I have had enough for today, thank you. You will be fed and shown to a room in good time, please see the housekeeper about it, good day." 

There was no arguing with _that,_ not with her guards looming from the doorway. 

\- 

Austria thought, that evening, that she had escaped from whatever Prussia was after; perhaps it was money or perhaps it was more ceremonial nonsense, which she would not grant- not only to avoid enraging Poland, but to maintain her _own_ pre-eminence. A kingdom, indeed, when she'd made it quite clear no sovereign in her domain should ever consider themselves equal to the Emperor. The concession she'd made was hasty, and foolish, but it was done now; she would just have to make sure he didn't get any other ideas, and impress the same goal upon Brandenburg. He was the only reason she even halfway trusted Prussia, and she was not sure he had quite enough grit to keep his charge under the thumb. 

But no matter, she wouldn't worry about it just yet. She could put it from her mind for the evening, alone in her chambers; she had declined to dine with her guest, citing weariness, and retired early. Her maids had undressed her, and she had an inclination to practice on the beautiful harp she had acquired before bed. It was set in her sitting room, given all the space such a lovely thing required, and she looked at it admiringly for a moment, a finger gently plucking one string. It occured to her as the note trilled around the room that she ought to tie her hair back, however, and she wandered away to her bedchamber to do so, her soft white nightgown trailing. 

It was as she reached for her hairbrush that her well-trained ears picked up the slightest creak, and she froze. 

\- 

If you asked Prussia for a list of his talents, he would (unfortunately) have to place breaking and entering somewhere near the top. Swordplay was all well and good, he could dance, and he was at home with a broom and a laundry basket, if that counted, but other than that, he mostly knew how to get into places he wasn't supposed to be. It was a useful skill to have, when you grew up with fanatics who liked to keep you on the edge of starvation. Not that he strictly needed to eat to exist, but his stomach had a lot of other ideas about that. 

Speaking of his stomach, its fullness as he clambered out of his own bedroom window and began to scale the outside of the palace wall was a bit inconvenient, he felt rather indigestive, but he couldn't fault the meal he'd been treated to. It was just a pity that Austria hadn't taken it with him, and he'd been left with Holy Rome's awful company. That child had no conception of how to be cute or brotherly. Prussia wasn't _annoyed_ at Austria, he _believed_ her when she said she was feeling frail- women, you know- but he felt _obligated_ to visit her and improve her condition with his charitable presence. And since there were guards posted in her corridors and snooping maids asking him where on earth he thought he was going every time he put a foot out of his room, the window presented the obvious solution. 

He thought he'd counted the rooms right; perhaps mental arithmetic was another talent. It wasn't hard, hauling himself along the overly-elaborate facade, though it was in his best interests to avoid hanging in front of any windows- some half-naked aristocrat might give him a hiding with a pointlessly fancy cane. He had one of those himself, it was very nice. 

There was a tree near Austria's suite, and it provided him a handhold as he cautiously made his way around a jutting bit of stonework, hefting himself up a floor. He was sweating a bit by the time he made it to a suitable window- some unoccupied room with artistic odds and ends in, by the look of it, she was so wasteful- despite that he'd shed everything except his shirt and breeches. A quick fumble with the window, foolishly left ajar on a warm night, and he was in. 

In his stockings, he made very little noise on carpet, but he really should have accounted for old, creaking wooden floors. The noise as he put his weight on the boards made him wince, and he stood stock-still, waiting for any sign of Austria's awareness; nothing happened, so on he went, peering carefully around a doorframe into what seemed to be her lounge. She wasn't in it, unless she was hiding for some unfathomable reason. Perfect for him, he could just sit himself down somewhere and surprise her- 

A noise alerted him to her presence somewhere ahead- bedroom, probably- and he darted into the sitting room, dropping on a fancy, frilly little couch as quietly as he could manage. He even crossed his legs and set his hands nicely in his lap, waiting with a grin for Austria to come out and see him, and it took everything he had not to actually call to her, he was so impressed with himself. The illicit nature of his practical joke had completely left his mind. 

Austria _did_ come out of her room, slowly and warily, not that Prussia noticed- and she didn't notice _him,_ at first, padding to another door to tentatively check beyond it. She was in her nightclothes, though, he noticed that, the floaty folds of fabric swaddling her, though he fancied he could see the peach of her skin through it, that was interesting- 

-until she turned in his direction, and her blank expression as she seemed to miss him entirely amongst her incredibly over-decorated things was even more interesting. 

Then of course her mind caught up with her eyes, and she did notice him. Prussia had expected her to jump. What he had not expected was for her to scream. Ear-splittingly loudly, just to top the whole thing off. 

"Österreich!" He jumped up instinctively, shouting without meaning to and instantly wanting to kick himself for it. The big white doors marking the entrance of her rooms loomed in his peripheral vision suddenly, and he gave them a frightened look, expecting guards to burst in at any second- his lips went dry, and he licked them nervously. "E-Evenin', Princess- " 

"What- wh- _you,_ " Austria gasped out, a hand clutched to her chest. She had practically thrown herself backwards against a wall in her shock, pale and wide-eyed. Now, Prussia knew it would give her a thrill to see him appear out of thin air in her room, but that was a bit much, he thought. He looked himself over, wondering if something about his appearance was making him look especially concerning. 

"Yeah, it's me!" he said, uselessly. "Relax already! I came to say goodnight since you weren't at dinner, y'know, that was pretty rude, I thought, Princess, but don't worry about it, you can make it up to me!" 

"Goodnight?!" She did not seem to be listening to what he was saying, let alone understanding it. There was a moment where Prussia thought she was calming herself, and took the opportunity to approach her, but it instantly flew out the window for some reason. She stumbled back into the wall, looking to either side rather frantically, like a cornered rabbit, but he wasn't particularly good with animals. "P-Preußen, what are you- how did you get in- " 

"Oh- your window back there- y'know you should close it, you'll get a chill." He stared at her now, puzzling over her rapid breathing and the startled look she wore; she tensed up all the more as he got closer, her hands fisted in the fabric of her nightgown, and he stared at them too. Which meant he couldn't help looking in the general area of her chest, increasingly convinced he could see _things_ through her nightie- "You should breathe, too, you're all huffed up- listen, we don't want a ruckus in here, now, do we, so just- " 

He meant it kindly, he really did, worried that she might asphyxiate herself into fainting, which would be a problem. Or worse, that she would shriek again and bring assistance down on his head. It didn't quite occur to him that she might _need_ assistance when she found a relatively strange man in her chambers late at night, especially one so witless as to make vague threats without even realising that he had done so. So, clearly, he could not understand why she scrambled for her bedroom door when he moved towards her, nor why she yelped when he reached out to her, thinking to calm her with a friendly shoulder pat or something equally idiotic. 

"Don't- _guards!_ " she cried out, tripping through the doorway- Prussia danced from foot to foot in agony, trying desperately to quiet her with a finger on his lips and _shhhh_ ing noises, but she had absolutely no interest in listening to him (as usual) and in a last-ditch attempt, he made a grab for her, stumbling through the bedroom door with her- 

" _No!_ " 

"Fuck- Princess, shh- _ach- !_ " 

He had to say, for a small girl who got out of breath going upstairs, she really put some imperial force behind her slaps. 

Prussia jumped back, clutching his red cheek and immediately whining about it, in as aggravated a whisper as he could manage. " _Owwwww,_ Christ! What the hell was that for?! Sweet mother of- _listen,_ Österreich, I only came up for a nightcap or somethin', since you wouldn't even eat with me- the hell's the matter with you tonight, hah?!" 

"You stay away from me, you- _criminal-_ how dare you so much as entertain your evil thoughts in my house," Austria was ranting, panic making her voice high, and she bumped into her bed as she backed away from him- to his astonishment, she climbed up on top of it like she was trying to avoid a rat in her room. "I shall have you thrown in the cells- you will never be a real kingdom if this is how you behave- did you think I just, just made myself _available_ to all manner of petty little countries, hmm?! How _dare_ you- " 

"Österreich," Prussia cut in, weakly, beginning to understand in some horribly incomplete way what he had done, "I didn't think nothin', I swear on baby Jesus' little fuckin' halo, but would you please shut the hell up and calm down already?! LISTEN to me- " 

"Be silent!" She was having none of it; in fact, she was lifting a stiff-looking bolster from her bed. Prussia held up his hands plaintively, but it didn't stop her, she hurled it at him with rather good aim, and it smacked him in the face before he could fumblingly catch it. 

"For Christ's sake, Princess!" That was it; he was so shocked, so incensed, and so utterly bewildered by what was going on, that he made the fatal mistake of lobbing it _back._ It actually knocked her over. Instantly, he wanted to run for the nearest window and climb back out, to hell with the entire plan- 

"You- unbelievable- pig- " But Austria, looking positively furious- and, he had to admit, just a little _hilarious_ with her red cheeks, tousled hair and flouncy nightgown- was crawling from her bed with the pillow in hand, and she reached him before he could flee. He took a few vicious hits to the head before he could extricate himself and try to run away, a wild impulse to laugh bubbling up in him as he skidded across the flooring, Austria in hot pursuit. 

She beat every inch of him she could reach, all the way through her rooms, nearly falling over in the process- she was fuelled by rage, but Prussia was actually in shape, and he darted for the open window as she flagged behind him. 

"Gotta go, Princess- ah- don't tell the guards, I didn't do anything, after a- _I didn't do anything-_ PRINCESS!" The bolster flew true; it hit him between the eyes, bouncing off across the room, and leaving him half-tumbling, half-climbing out of her window with stars flashing in his vision. He had to make a grab for the tree outside to avoid crashing to the ground and breaking every bone in his body, and he clung awkwardly to the branches like a defective monkey. "That was fuckin' unnecessary!" 

All he heard in return was a "Hmph!", and the slam of the window. It wasn't, to his relief, followed by barking dogs and shouting guardsmen. Thank Heaven for small mercies. 

\- 

It did not take Austria very long to get over her fright. Daylight made the whole thing seem foolish, and she was cheered by the knowledge that Prussia had virtually fled the country by morning. She had half a mind to officially ban him from returning, she had no time for greedy social climbers making horrendous breaches of etiquette. But letters began to pour in- flowery and French, Latin and full of religious poetry, or effusive apologies in plain German that he had obviously been coached into writing. It was all so ridiculous, she had a hard time believing she'd thought him capable of, well, anything. 

Another one arrived over breakfast, and she brooded over it. _Liebe Österreich,_ he'd written. _Considering that I have written many apologetic, sincere and heartfelt letters over the past weeks, I am assuming that you have found it in your very gentle and maidenly heart to kindly forgive me for the unfortunate misunderstanding that occurred. Therefore I would be extremely pleased to visit at any time convenient to you and receive your forgiveness in person, at which time, I promise I will bring you something really amazing and expensive. Please read the following liturgy and think about me fondly. Excitedly waiting your response and packing._

Austria tossed it aside, sighed, and relented. 

\- 

It turned out to be pearls, the expensive thing. 

Austria made certain the room was full of witnesses when he presented them, and Prussia seemed inordinately pleased about it. He had a kind of showmanship that didn't seem quite respectable, and it was slightly embarrassing to have everyone watch, but Austria had to give him points for making it exciting. She was outwardly stoic, looking as far down her nose at him as possible, but her heart pattered just a bit when he winked, and threw the velvet cover off. An enormous oyster shell lay on the plinth. Rather disgusting in Austria's book, but the sea was foreign to her, and it was fascinating all the same. 

The room gasped quietly when he opened it, and she was taken for a moment with the unexpected shimmer of the shell's insides, before her eyes landed on the gift. Not white, but black, and when he pressed her to examine them, they shone green and purple in her hands. There must have been a hundred on the string. 

"How much of your national budget does this represent, Preußen?" she asked him, softly so no one could hear; his broad smile froze a bit, and she shook her head. "What an incredible spendthrift you are." 

"I can sell 'em again if you feel better about it, Österreich- " Austria raised a hand to cut him off. 

"I think not." 

She ordered them sent straight to her jewel case, and when she dismissed the room and swept out, she did so with a look back that was almost approving, in the right light. 

\- 

Of course, in exchange for those theatrics, he wanted to stay for a while. To eat and drink at her expense, probably, while his court lived on dry bread to pay for his extravagance. 

At first she saw little of him, consumed as she was with punishing Bavaria for his insolence in the incessant battle for Spain- or whatever it was they were actually fighting over that month- but as gains were made and the pressure lessened, she found herself almost welcoming his cheery interruptions. She had firmly barred him from her meetings, but he had a habit of being just outside the door whenever she left. 

Austria left her study in the late afternoon, a very strongly-worded letter to Bavaria waiting for the postmaster's attention on her desk. She had not taken more than a step out of the door when she found a bouquet of flowers thrust into her face, Prussia's grin appearing from around them a moment later. 

"Afternoon, Princess," he said, pushing them on her until she gathered them in her arms; they hadn't been cut properly. In fact- 

"Are these my roses?" 

"They are now, I got 'em for you." 

"From my garden." 

"Hm? I don't know, I get lost around this place. Who knows where all these flowers keep springing out from?" He feigned cluelessness, turning from her to wander down the hall, but looking over his shoulder suggestively. Austria sighed, and followed him, up to her chin in red and white petals. 

Prussia convinced her out for a walk. It was warm still, and she could go without a coat, though he was not so lucky if he wanted to look remotely respectable. As she strolled slowly after him- right past the beds of red and white roses, with much sighing- she studied the spring in his step, the excellent posture he carried himself with, and the irritable fussing with his coat she could tell he was trying to suppress. Gold today, not really his colour, thought it made a pleasant counterpoint to his royal blue waistcoat, to say nothing of the pale turquoise gown she wore. It struck her, suddenly, that Hungary had never dressed in pastels and jewels, he had always favoured dark and solid colours, just a touch of green, red or gold on black. Or brown, unpretentious and utilitarian. The fashions had changed, she reasoned, but he still avoided the sort of rich hues and delicate accessories she would choose for herself. It had never mattered then. 

Now, though, she almost looked on it as a conscious choice, a rejection of whatever he thought her dress stood for. Seeing the very same fashions on such an obvious nouveau-riche as Prussia made her question what they did stand for. A string of pearls, really? It could have paid for an army. 

And Hungary, she couldn't help thinking, would have offered her his arm if he were there. And he wouldn't have ripped up her flowers. 

But Prussia did notice her falling behind as they wound their way through the grounds, glancing over his shoulder, then turning around and walking backwards. He had been babbling about something or other the entire time, and Austria hadn't caught a word. 

"Did you hear what I said? What d'you think of that, hah?" 

"Spectacular," she said, dully, ignoring his perplexed look. "Preußen, when you asked me to walk with you, I did think I might walk _with_ you, and not trail behind you carrying half my garden." 

"Well, you gotta walk a little faster, Princess- " He wasn't entirely stupid, it seemed, and he caught her unimpressed look just in time. "Ah- here, let me have those- look, we'll put 'em here." 

He gathered the roses out of her arms, and shoved them into a gap in a nearby hedge. It looked ridiculous. But slightly artistic, perhaps. 

"There, see. Now, uh," he said, revolving in place and shielding his eyes against the low sun, looking down the different paths. "Where to? You pick, I don't know where anything is around here." 

"Oh." Austria looked left and right, or it might have been north and south, patting the lace cap that topped her coiffure rather idly. "There is a pretty fountain that makes a wonderful sound in this garden." 

"Right, where?!" 

"I am not sure." 

"You're not?" 

"I believe there were peacocks last time, also." 

"Peacocks? Princess, you're thinking of the garden on the west side- tch, look, I know the place better than you already! You're not telling me you _still_ don't know your ass from your- I mean your east from your west!" Prussia sounded exasperated, and to her surprise he took her by the arm, tugging her along the path. "Look, we'll just go this way, I think it opens on some kinda field, I don't know- _peacocks._ " 

"What do you mean, still?" she asked, as he led her away; true enough, the cultivated garden stopped at a gate, and beyond was a wide, tree-lined lawn. Deer roamed through there, she knew, but they wouldn't with Prussia's voice ringing around the place. 

"I mean you never knew where the hell you were when you were a little kid," he said, opening the gate and shooing her through it. "You'd be in Bran's place thinking he was Bayern, I remember, y'know!" 

"...I have learned which country is which, since, thank you." 

It surprised her, the idea that he remembered so much from so long ago. It was a small thing in her mind- a minor inconvenience that her internal compass was off-kilter- but perhaps to others it seemed a greater hazard. She had never come to harm from it, from her point of view- but that was mostly because others were there to make sure of that. Even him, once- and begrudgingly. 

There was nothing of note in this part of the grounds, no passing walkers, no deer, no squirrels for her to go soft over. She blamed Prussia's noisy feet. They walked for a while, Austria hanging stubbornly off Prussia's arm, but soon lost interest in endless grass, and idled near the pines. 

"So, that's how I dealt with the Swedish spy," Prussia was saying, capping off yet another story- longwinded, boring, and militaristic, something of an adventure novel by an incompetent author. Highly embellished, she suspected. She leaned against a tree, hands behind her, her pearls gleaming around her throat and against her bare collar bone. They might have paid for an army, but right now they were paying for her company, and the hell with wastefulness, she wanted them. Enough to suffer this interminable series of events Prussia was relating. 

He paused, thankfully, to take a pinch of snuff, crouching down on the ground with his coat slung over one shoulder. Abominable. 

"You should tell me somethin' about yourself, Princess," he said, as if that would be a special treat for her. "What've you been doing lately, hm? Other than sending hate mail to Bayern." 

It obviously tickled him, but Austria saw through his question at once; he wanted to know more than he was privy to about Imperial campaigns. She sighed, rolling her eyes. 

"I am not at liberty to discuss it, and you are hereby forbidden from asking." She gave him a warning look, but he just smiled. "You know I do not find speaking of war and soldiery very amusing or interesting." 

"It's _very_ interesting," he protested, but he heaved himself to his feet, coming to lean against the tree with her and necessarily invading her personal space. She eyed him peevishly. "What do you prefer, then, uh, ballet? Painting pictures? Dressing up like a milkmaid?" 

"Do I _look_ like a milkmaid to you?" She tilted her head at him, the pearls shining darkly with her movement and catching his eye, which wandered a little far for her liking. 

"Well," he said, slowly, "depends what kinda milkmaids you got around here, you should see 'em over my way- " 

" _Hmph._ " Austria sighed, yet again, and looked away from him, gazing out at the darkening field, and the glimmer of lights beginning to show from the palace windows over the way. "I used to enjoy dances, and dinners, and walking- just a bit- out of doors, but..." 

"But what?" She heard Prussia realise the answer even as he asked; she wasn't sure why she was heading down this direction with him, but misery loved company, didn't it. "But you hate doing those things by yourself, hah?" 

"I could find companions to do them with, if I should want to." 

"Who, courtiers? The kids? Pfft." His derision made her look back at him, annoyed, but the flare of irritation died down at his expression. He wasn't exactly mocking; if he'd been someone else, she might have thought he was understanding. "Listen, all the people you liked to spend time doin' rich people stuff with have all fucked off, or they've turned tail like that idiot Bayern, because there's something in it for them. That's all that is, Princess, selfishness. You should let them go with a smile and just enjoy yourself, let 'em see it. People get all bitter and jealous, you know, when you're on top." 

He said it so sagely it almost made sense. Of course he had no idea what it was like to actually be 'on top', nor, Austria suspected, to have friends and lose them to circumstance. He was wildly overcompensating for his social inadequacies. But there was still a lunatic wisdom to it that appealed to something, somewhere in her worse nature. It was selfish, to side with France, and it was selfish to take advantage of impending war, and it was even sort of selfish to just go along with whatever was happening, and not fight to stay with her. 

It wasn't kind, or right, to think that; but she didn't have to be kind, or right, that evening. God knew, Prussia wouldn't care either way. 

"Yes, I suppose so," she answered at length, as though she was responding to something else entirely. Prussia beamed. 

"I'm right," he said, confidently, "and I deserve a prize for it." 

"You are not at Sunday school." 

"Well I hope not, Fräulein." He tapped his cheek, leaning down close to her- he had to lean down more than ever, she noticed, a growth spurt had obviously got a tight grip on him. Austria hoped she hadn't been the cause. "Can I have a kiss?" 

"Out here? Improper. I might begin to think you are trying to seduce me." It was a little gratifying to see him blush in the dim light, instantly shaking his head. 

"I'm not- I really didn't mean to- _don't_ say that to Bran- " 

"Oh, be quiet," she said, knowing deep in her gut that he had never done anything you could call 'seducing' in his life. "Very well." 

Prussia's face, inches from hers, was red on white, his fine cheekbone presented to her and his eyes watching her intently as she closed in; she put her hand on his golden sleeve, and he grabbed her elbow, a breath passing between them. She missed his cheek. 

He kissed disconcertingly well. It was rather familiar. Not like Hungary, gentle lips and bold tongue. Nor Spain, who led it like a dance. No, something about it was like kissing France, or so she had heard, because she had never done such a disgusting thing in all her days, naturally. He was just shy of aggressive, his lips firm and searching on hers within moments, his hands tight on her waist, but his tongue was fleeting, each touch like the crackling of lightning for the nerves. Austria had not dreamed he had anything like _passion_ about him, but he had it. 

She pulled back from him after minute, looking thoughtfully at his reddened mouth. He swallowed, his breathing heavy, but he didn't let go of her. 

"What?" 

"Nothing." She thought of Bavaria, of Hungary, of _France,_ and put her arms around his neck, her tongue swiping the last of her lipsalve away. "Do it again." 

"... _Very well,_ Princess." What she'd taken for flustered, shy interest became amusement and self-satisfaction in short order, but he did what he was told, and pressed her to the pine tree. Tall but not too tall; broad compared to her, but slender for a young man. They fit together in a way that pleased the subconscious. For all the long moments they spent there, until night fell to the ground around them, he did nothing but kiss her, a gentleman in every way but for the teasing remarks when he came up for air. And that, Austria found with some surprise, was all that she required. 

\- 

Guardianship of her little Italy had been in question for some time, and no doubt the poor child was at home fretting this way and that as the campaigns continued, but Austria intended to put the question out of everyone's minds once and for all. 

The floor of a drawing room in the palace was littered with maps, charts and documents, heavy books on strategy open here and there. Austria was not militaristic, merely despotic, and she'd thought it might pay to educate herself in the manner of her generals. But it was a warm day, and the choice lay between heavy, insulating curtains or beams of sunlight in her eyes, and that made study an unappealing prospect. She squinted at the map before her, a finger tracing rivers and and marches. 

She was interrupted by a wet nose, bumping into her hand. A little butterfly-dog sniffed around her work, its paws daintily stepping all over it in order to get to her lap. Austria sighed, but she stroked the feathery ears and rubbed it under the chin, strangely compelled by the bundle of soft warmth the dog became in her arms. She had always been somewhat fond of wild animals, and hunting dogs had been a fixture at her home for as long as she could remember, but it was becoming more fashionable to keep lapdogs, and she found herself beset by pups. Perhaps people took her for cold and unresponsive to such things- certainly her behaviour around infants was mostly bewildered- but the little dogs, she'd taken a swift liking to. 

"Ach- don't bite my ears, ya mutt- " 

It was debatable whether Prussia got along with dogs or not. Behind Austria, he lay on the floor, a very small spaniel clambering over his legs, and a Pomeranian pup apparently using his facial features as toys. She glanced at him over her shoulder, pursing her lips at the sight of him grumbling, but allowing it. 

"That is one of yours, I am not surprised he is badly-behaved." 

He made a face at her, ruffling the dog's fluffy head as it tried to burrow under his collar. "He's been ruined by livin' with you." 

"Hmm. And who else is ruining himself by staying with me for far too long?" 

"Ah- hey- that reminds me," Prussia said, sitting up and wriggling himself closer, his pups hanging from him. "I got great news this morning from Bran, he says I can stay another month or so- " 

"Oh, how wonderful," Austria replied, derisively, but she was teasing. "Are you certain he did not threaten you into staying away from home for another month?" 

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other..." He pulled himself up behind her, until she could feel his warmth brush her back through her fine gown, an arm coming to rest loosely around her waist. He was looking at her work over her shoulder, she could tell, and she leaned back slightly in interest. "Damn, I never thought I'd see the day you were scrapping with the Pope." 

"I am not _scrapping_ with the Pope, I am asserting my rights," she said, primly; Prussia leaned around her and jabbed his finger at the map, landing on Parma, and trailing through Milan, wandering all the way to Vienna. She wondered what he thought of it all, whether he was entertained or strangely offended, with his deep and confused religiosity. "You spent half of your childhood railing against the Papacy, anyway." 

"Only 'cause I wanted stuff." 

" _Precisely._ " 

He laughed, a soft snort just behind her ear, and pressed against her back to kiss her cheek. But he hadn't finished interfering, wrapped around her with a hand on her belly as he contemplated the charts. "If you're gonna do it, you shouldn't go by that route- look, here, you're gonna have your back to the river- " 

"Let's not discuss it anymore," Austria interrupted, a finality in her tone that she had perfected to deal with his unwanted advice. She valued his martial prowess, and knew him to be tactical-minded, but she preferred to make her own decisions. She did not even realise she was doing it, suppressing his involvement in her affairs- not only because he was a guest and had no business in her work, but because to her, he was not an ally as much as a sellsword. At least, in that sphere. 

He was also a companion. She found herself shrinking away from other company, slowly, to play with him- _play,_ as if she was a child again, but that's what it was. He was consuming, Prussia, distracting, attention-seeking, and he irritated her with his intrusions and interruptions, to say nothing of his vulgar, braggart nature. But his company was easy and his morals loose, and he had nothing but disinterest, or mild support, for her actions; it was refreshing. Not, she would insist, the lack of censure and judgement, so much as the knowledge that his interest lay elsewhere. In her, as herself. 

There was no need for him to linger around Vienna or give extravagant gifts, other than as a means of ingratiating himself with her. Austria knew full well he wanted Imperial recognition, he craved it, but it went beyond status for him, she felt. There was a neediness to his personality, a desire for someone's attention, and he had seized on her as the object of his affections. 

When she put it like that, in her own mind, the whole thing sounded shallow and even distasteful, no better than keeping a common mistress around the place and letting her behave scandalously. But instead of horrifying her, it amused her, faintly. It was unlike her, wasn't it? But she had not been happy being _like_ herself, in recent years. Not alone, and unappreciated, criticised. This, she thought, was what led monarchs to their unscrupulous favourites, and it was a dangerous path to embark upon, for them- but not for _her,_ she thought. Austria would endure, and she could play, if she wished to. 

Perhaps she too was needy, a quiet thought told her, but it was drowned out by Prussia grumbling behind her. Austria pushed maps and books aside, and smiled when he kissed her again, soft, gentle kisses along her cheek. She was about to turn to him, when suddenly she was _licked_. 

"Ugh!" 

Prussia laughed, but he wasn't the culprit, she found, turning. A little white furry face poked its tongue out at her. 

"My, should I kiss this handsome individual instead?" She lifted the puppy from Prussia's hands, rubbing her face against its soft ears, but her eyes laughed at him above the fluff, and he gave her an exaggerated pout. 

"Oi, oi, I'm the most handsome dog you've got- these fuzzballs can get in line, go on!" He flapped his hands at the dogs now clambering over Austria, the spaniel tipped out of his lap as he leaned over her shoulder and dipped her back, nearly clambering on her himself in his effort to kiss her. She let him press her down, arms around his neck and fingers in his hair, quickly untucking her legs as he wrapped his arms around her and tried to lay her down on the rug- _tried,_ because her pets were having none of it. "Mmh- tch, for Christ's sakes- " 

"They want me all to themselves." 

"They _want_ to be walked, little brats." Prussia dragged himself to his feet with an exaggerated sigh, offering Austria his hands; when she took too long pulling herself after him, he lifted her himself, easily despite her heavy skirts. He'd grown in size and strength, useful for war, pleasant for personal reasons. A _touch_ concerning for a vassal state, but then perhaps he was only catching up to his fellows after his stunted youth. "C'mon, it's too hot for 'em in here and it's too hot for me, too, y'know. Is your body temperature always set to freezing, Princess?" 

"Don't be absurd. I am rather warm myself," Austria replied, brushing her dress down and patting her hair, before clapping her hands for the dogs to follow her. 

"Ah, you should let me feel you, just in case- " He danced around her as much as the pups, all of them following her to the door- if Prussia could have gambolled around under her petticoats, he would have, too. Austria paused at the door, tapping his chest in reproach, with a slight smile. 

"Be a good boy and walk to heel, now, Preußen, give them an example." 

He nearly chased her out of the room, the dogs excited underfoot, but before she could flee down the hall, he had grabbed her hand, and woven his fingers through hers. 

\- 

They had not slept together- well, only literally, on the grass while the sun shone. It didn't seem strange to Prussia, having no conception of how ladies conducted their affairs. He wasn't even certain if what they were doing counted as an affair, though he supposed it was no longer plausibly platonic- not with courtiers and maids seeing them, dashing hand-in-hand out of empty rooms, laughing and kissing behind the shrubbery. But that was nothing to him, he lacked a sense of shame, as Austria kept informing him. She had plenty to spare, but each time, she would scold him, and each time, she would make the same mistakes with him all over again. 

Prussia found himself looking at her, at times, somehow stunned; there was a time he thought she'd forgotten how to laugh, a time he'd looked at her almost contemptuously, just the same way she'd looked at him. Not that their paths had crossed much, and perhaps it was for the best. He wouldn't often admit to it, but his past embarrassed him. No one who made such a dramatic production out of becoming a kingdom could enjoy remembering life as a roving band of violent maniacs. _Penniless_ maniacs, for that matter. It was an entirely different perspective, looking at an empire, as a kingdom. 

She was aspirational to him, perhaps. Motivating in a way he only half-understood. More than wealth, more than even power, Austria had... _class._ He'd mocked her countless times for her humble origins and her forged lineage, but it was natural in her, he grasped that now. She was beautiful in a way most people dreamed of being, but it was not an easy beauty, there to be consumed. Harsh enough to frighten a man, delicate enough to make him guilty. 

Not him, though. He relished it, the starkness of her dark hair in all its elaborate styles, against the rich cream of her skin and the jolt of colour from between her lashes. She could shock him from across the room with the swift sharpness of her eyes. And each glimmering dress, each jewel she wore filled him with a kind of aesthetic pleasure he had been denied for centuries. If it hadn't been for his previous _miscalculation_ in her bedroom, he would have begged her to let him watch her dress, to delight in how she made herself that way every day. 

And there would be a fringe benefit, of course, in seeing how she looked _before_ she did so. Prussia might have been quite content to leave her with a polite farewell at night, but he burned with something he could only identify as curiosity, for her. He was a product of his religious, barren upbringing, valuing affection and attention more than anything, but he wasn't ignorant to desire. Or fulfilling it, but combining the former attributes with the latter was something he hadn't got the hang of. He still thought of women as belonging to two breeds. Accessible but alarmingly aggressive, which was a polite way of describing whores (for he was never rude to them), or France (no comment); or off-limits to him in every possible way, whether by being chaste, married or a grandmother of twelve. Then there were men, who were many things in life, but in sex, they were casual and unthreatening, kept at arm's length. He had affection for the young men he collected, but he moved from favourite to favourite, transient, not fool enough to encourage human feelings he would never return. It would be much the same with women, if he had the balls to try it. 

Austria wasn't merely a woman, though. And she wasn't France, with her grabbing hands and her vicious mouth, however beautiful it was. Austria delivered her insults with _elegance._ And Prussia was curious, increasingly curious, for what else she could deliver. She was sensual when he kissed her, when he trailed his lips down the smooth lines of her neck and her bosom; the sounds she made were singularly _gripping,_ like nothing you'd ever hear in a sweaty stable. She looked like a doll made of Chinese porcelain, but he wasn't afraid to touch her, and wrap his hands around what soft and warm parts of her body he could feel through her dress. He wanted more. 

As soon as he became conscious of the want he had, it became a _need,_ and quietly he pursued it. Not with words, that was a ghastly prospect, but with hands that plucked at the tops of her stockings, and pawed at the front of her bodice. And Austria, damn her, as if she knew exactly what he was after, would make no move to assist him- she'd just torment him, with her pretty hands resting on his thighs and her warm breath on his neck, and then, _goodnight, Preußen._ Denial for him was painful, he was a creature of instant gratification, but all at once he found it enthralling. No other woman had invited him so far, then failed to, well, assault him, for lack of a better word. There was a strange safety in Austria's demure smile, neither yes nor no. Knowing her- and he fancied he did, _a bit-_ it was something like "try harder, why don't you". 

Well, he would. In his own...inimitable way. 

\- 

Prussia was a coastal state, and he had become used to the sound and feel of the waves. He could stand in his capital and watch the boats, follow the horizon until the calm greyness of the water disappeared into the sky; the expanse was vaguely relaxing. But when the sun was high and bright, it all shone blue, jewel-glossy and tempting to hot feet. He'd grown up bathing in rivers- and making hasty strategic retreats through them- and taking to the water like a wild duck was a pleasure for him. Swimming, of course, was a necessity. 

Now, Austria was possessed of a lovely bath, with hot water on tap from the technological wonder that was a stove and a couple of strong servants. But she also had some rather nice fountains and ponds in her expansive lair; she had seen the sea perhaps a handful of times, and never got too close to a lake if she could help it, but she evidently enjoyed the music of the water, commenting on babbling brooks and suchlike when she walked with Prussia. 

Clearly, then, it would do her good to take a dip in the fresh air, for once, instead of locking herself away in that steamroom. It would enrich her, physically, mentally, spiritually- he explained all this to her very patiently- and furthermore, though he kept this part to himself, it would perhaps open up her closely-guarded sense of _fun._ Austria always gave Prussia the impression of a person fighting against herself, suppressing instinct and impulse when they threatened to- God forbid- shatter her stern facade for more than half a minute. 

Then there was clothing to consider, chiefly that it would have to come off, but that was only a small part of Prussia's altruistic plan. 

He wasn't sure how he'd managed it- his supernatural charm and wit?- but one dry day, under a yellow afternoon sun, Austria sulkily trudged along with him for a paddle, and he beamed about it the whole way. He swung her hand as they walked, bright grass and leaves turning blue and cool as they sought privacy. Her little dogs had been left distracted in the kitchen, to the undoubted displeasure of the cooks, but they couldn't afford any yipping and tearing through the undergrowth. 

It wasn't _done,_ for ladies and gentlemen to strip down out of doors and splash around like peasant children, least of all _together._ Austria had made sure Prussia was fully aware of that. But, he reasoned, they weren't really ladies and gentlemen. They were like- like nymphs or dryads or some other equally ridiculous pagan concept, the sort she liked to paint on her walls and see dancers dress up as, for he was trying to speak her language. They belonged to nature and it belonged to them, and no mortal was going to tell them otherwise, and besides, they'd done it a hundred thousand times in the early days. What was the worst that could happen? 

"The Emperor losing what remains of his wits at the sight," Austria told him, but he didn't want to hear that kind of sardonic tone on a day so fine. It wasn't his problem if the captain of the good ship Austria was currently stressed out of his mind over the succession. How it was that the average peasant could bring up a happy family of seven in the time it took one king to pull himself together, Prussia would never understand. But then _his_ abysmal reproductive education would never matter to _him._

"The hell's the Emperor doing peeping in the woods?! Forget about him, and forget about anyone seein'," he said, cheerily, as they hit upon the stream he'd been aiming for; he promptly turned them to follow it, Austria wheeling about after him like the sail of a boat in her sage-green dress. Chosen for camouflage, perhaps, though it wouldn't work, not while it glimmered like a gem. "Anyway, if he's havin' bedroom trouble maybe this'll help him out, you never know- " 

"He is not having- " Austria stopped herself, thankfully. But unfortunately that let her concentrate on the other part of his sentence. "What _are_ you implying, Preußen? I don't see how my bathing has anything to do with it." 

It was highly questionable whether she was serious, or playing dumb. Prussia cleared his throat, giving her a nervous, smiling glance. "Ah- you know, since we're together, it uh, it stimulates- " 

"You mean to seduce me _here?_ " She sounded neither shocked nor concerned. Nor interested. It was uncanny, how her tone could tell you everything and nothing at once. "I really must object, I cannot possibly do it in front of an audience of frogs- " 

"Why not, they'll croak out some background music for ya!" Prussia couldn't help but joke, Austria was as entertaining as she was intimidating, but he shook his head as the brook widened and fell down a gentle slope, pooling shallowly among flat stones. They were hidden from the watchful eyes of the palace, but still not far from it, and it paid to be quiet. "I didn't say nothin' about seducing, that was you. It's the innocent frolicking of water-sprites that stimulates, _uhh-_ the propagation of new life- " 

"Do shut up, you fool." 

He really didn't mean to _seduce_ her, as she was so fond of accusing him. It wasn't the setting he would choose, whether she'd believe that or not- he too enjoyed home comforts and cleanliness and, well, he might meet a young man of common stock out of doors, but a lady of her calibre? As if he needed another reason to fret about whether he was doing it right. 

But he did mean to get a good look at her bosom when it wasn't being heaved up by a stiff bodice. He threw his own old coat off without a care, he'd dressed down for convenience, and his plain brown waistcoat was flung quickly after it. 

"C'mon, before we lose the day- d'you need help?" 

"Of course I need help!" 

Prussia would have strangled himself with his collar if he'd been unable to remove his clothes by himself, he didn't know how Austria could stand it, but he would enjoy divesting her, all the same. She looked at him expectantly, and he slipped behind her, following her waving hand to the fastenings of her bodice. She had dressed down, too- for her, and though the silk dazzled with pale patterns, the dress was relatively simple. She had gone without jewellery, also, which was a pity in one way and a blessing in another, for he wouldn't be held responsible for any loss. She _already_ liked to accuse him of thieving them off her person, which he had _never_ done, he had only borrowed the odd earring to admire it. 

He needed little instruction to peel her out of her bodice and skirt, though she flapped at him about being careful where he put them. He had grumblingly helped Poland into and out of her dresses- she liked to change on a whim- and there was France, who took every possible opportunity to tie her stays too tightly, and press him into removing them for her. Which he had done, guilelessly and cluelessly, for years, until his brain finally caught up with hers. At least he had been unknowingly annoying and depriving her each time, that was a comforting thought. 

There had been some vague intention of taking his time, and savouring the process, before he'd started, but it quickly unravelled; it didn't help that, beneath her dress, Austria was practically wearing another one. 

"You know it's not winter yet," Prussia quipped, as her petticoats slid from her in layers, and he piled them with her stays on top of his own coat. 

"These are _summer_ petticoats," Austria protested, but whatever they were, they were soon gone, and she stood in boots over stockings and a flouncy chemise, nothing more. It wasn't as see-through as he had hoped, but it was a pleasant view even so, her arms crossed under her bust only highlighting how... _free_ it now was. Prussia looked down her cleavage with interest, reaching for the hem of her shift thoughtlessly, to completely denude her, but she caught his wrists. 

"That's quite enough, I think! Hurry and undress yourself, unless you intend to swim like that." She gave his shirt and breeches, worn and comfortable, a dubious look. He could shed them both, it wouldn't bother him, but he decided that- since she'd set the standard- he ought to preserve a bit of modesty, and he only tugged his shirt over his head. 

"Right, happy?! Boots off, Princess, they'll weigh you down- and you don't need that- " 

"I _beg_ your pardon?" 

They tussled with their boots and stockings, and each other, all the way down to the water, and Prussia's cheeky laughter did little to disguise his admiration. Oh, she didn't need extra weight, what she had was perfect. He distracted her with kisses, feeling her smile under his lips and grasping freely for the soft pillows that were her thighs, dancing his fingers down her pale, silken arms to find her elegant hands. Austria seemed to forget to complain, her eyes flashing encouragement as much as her hands urged him on, hot against his bare chest and the sensitive parts of his belly- it might have been nice to sit a while and get a good feel of each other, but a splash and a gasp from Austria pulled them up short. 

She had stepped backwards into the shallow water without realising it, and she hopped on one foot, cringing at the cool temperature. Prussia laughed at her. 

"It's terribly cold..." 

"On a day like today?! I bet it's boiled into soup- c'mon, move over, you." He edged around her, spinning her as he did so, and tested the water himself; not so warm as he'd like, given the tree-cover, but shafts of sunlight still broke through and lit the clear, bubbling water up, and he eagerly waded to a sunspot, barely knee-deep. "Are you coming? The water's perfect, ahh! But damn, I thought it'd be deeper...don't you have a real lake around here anywhere?!" 

Even further back, where the water pooled against the wall of earth the stream flowed over to create the little pond, it couldn't have been more than chest height for him. Still, it was cool and clear, and clean, the stream continuing on the other side and keeping the water moving. Austria hesitantly padded towards him, her eyes on the ground to get a good look at the gravel and rocks she was walking on. She had put her hair up, neat and utilitarian, and Prussia felt a twinge of desire to see it tumble; perhaps he'd quietly pull the pins out when she wasn't paying attention. 

He couldn't help but see she was unsteady and unconfident on her feet, and he reached for her when she got closer, offering a handhold; she grasped his hands a little too tightly, the water rising up her thighs and- that was interesting, it was lifting the hem of her chemise, making it float and swell. So that was what weighted bath-gowns were for. Austria's legs really were something extraordinary; she may as well have had wheels, for all one ever saw of them, and it felt like a precious glimpse of the forbidden, which Prussia always took a special glee in. They were decorated, he noted, with dark spots like the one on her face, and they clustered too in her bosom and around her elbows. He thought her dazzlingly pale, until he looked at his own colourless skin, and then it seemed there was a richness to hers that he lacked. 

"I don't know what makes you think I would get into a lake, this is bad enough," she was grumbling, ignorant to his appreciation. 

"Stop your whining, already, you lapdog." 

They bickered quietly, but Prussia's touch could not be further from his mocking tone, as he carefully held Austria's hand and supported her back, easing her further into the water with him (over her protests). It was something like assisting an elderly lady, but she looked and felt like a naiad, or whatever it was. 

It was unfortunate that she apparently couldn't swim like one. 

"Ah- wait- " She stumbled suddenly as they reached the deepest part; though Prussia could still walk along the pond-bed, he was significantly taller, and Austria was losing her footing, bobbing weightlessly for a moment with a look of confusion on her face. It was endearing, if a little ridiculous- he couldn't believe that she _never_ swam anymore. "It's too deep here!" 

"It's fine, you're still standing! Look, just hold on to my- o-oi- " _Arm,_ he'd meant, but she was obviously nervous on her tip-toes, her balance worse for her irrational agitation, and she'd grabbed him around the waist, anchoring herself firmly with her head on his chest. It brought a broad smile to his face, and he held her tight. "Tch...you need to be babied at all times, don't you? No one'd ever believe you were the same wicked little witch sending all your men running when you get angry- " 

"You are so _rude-_ what are you doing?" Prussia had assumed she was distracted by her own silliness, and thought to act on his impulse to free her hair, but she'd caught him. He threw caution to the wind and carried on, releasing at least the bulk of her hair from its twists, and Austria clucked her tongue as she felt it fall down her back. "Honestly- don't you lose my hairpins, Preußen- " 

She snatched for them, and he cackled, but it made him sway a bit in the water, dragging her off her feet. She seized him with a grip like a wildcat in response, her weight only pushing him off-balance all the more. "Easy, Princess, Jesus- ach!" 

" _Preußen!_ " 

It was all very well, hearing her call his name, but she was so often scolding him that it was beginning to lose its novelty. Prussia laughed even as they stumbled together, grabbing Austria around the waist and lifting her up- she clung to him as though he were made of tree branches. Her hairpins were lost to the stream as he staggered, nearly falling- or, well, maybe it was a convenient excuse to dip her down until her hair was wet- but he hadn't counted on her absolute lack of survival instinct, and as she flailed, he dropped her. 

A child could have resurfaced easily at that depth, but he splashed down to grab her immediately, _knowing_ she would drown before she found sense. He soaked himself in the process, but it was nothing compared to how drenched she was when he lifted her up again, coughing and spluttering all over him. 

" _Ach-_ you- damned idiot- " Austria thumped her fist against his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, which was nice, with the way her chemise rode up around her waist. Her hair was black with water, remnants of its style collapsing and all the tendrils clinging to her body, much like her garment clung to her breasts, their soft pink centres visible through the white. It was a delectable state of affairs, despite the complaining, and Prussia buried his head in her chest as he dragged them both towards the shore. 

The complaining was _loud,_ though, and he shushed her. He wasn't worried that anyone would hear, there was little reason for anyone to pass this out-of-the-way spot, even if they were on a walk, hunting or- well, perhaps the groundskeepers might take a look in that direction now and again, but surely- 

"Christ, quiet down, Princess- _shhhh!_ " 

"Don't you _shhhh_ me," she was saying, and her clear voice rang indignantly, a nearby bird taking flight in surprise. "For goodness' sakes, how am I to return home with my hair dripping wet? Do you ever think about anything before you do it?" 

"Quiet, I said! You'll dry out in the sun, now stop yelping," Prussia said, trying to keep his voice down, though it wanted to rise to meet hers. He set her on a flat rock at the edge of the water, wiping water from his face and pushing back his wet fringe. "You'll drive every animal out of the woods with your racket." 

She was fidgeting with her hair, and not touching her shift at all, letting it cling all misshapen to every curve of her body- Prussia leaned on the rock, hands flat either side of her lap and his face practically in her bosom. It was a lovely way to see her, delicate and natural, with no pretensions or deliberate sexuality. His body would have responded readily to her, had the setting been more comfortable, but for now, he thought to get her somewhere sunny and secret, and dry her off. He had a sudden nagging feeling that it might not be wise to linger. 

Austria had no such instinct, evidenced by her continued harping while she wrung out her hair, and perhaps she knew better than him- it was her palace, after all, her fields and woods. Prussia almost relaxed, until she stopped all of a sudden, like a cat pricking up its ears. 

"What was that?" 

Prussia hadn't heard anything, and now he strained to do so. "...What?" 

"A voice- " 

A cold weight dropped into Prussia's stomach, closely followed by, indeed, a voice. Multiple voices, and not far, though they meandered. As if the owners of those voices were looking around. _Searching._ Had Austria been missed at a meeting she was supposed to attend? Did someone see her leave with him? 

"Preußen- it's my guard- " 

" _Fuck-_ shhh! Grab your things, we'll- " Hide, dart for cover, run away further through the trees. It was all futile with the noise they'd make, cracking branches underfoot everywhere he looked, and with Austria slowing them down, they might as well sing a song along the way. Prussia heaved himself out of the water, regretting the splash instantly as a short distance away, some fool guardsman noticed and told his fellows. It wasn't a real wood you could get lost in, just another tame little cluster of trees, and Prussia was cursing Austria for having guards with better tracking abilities than herself. 

"What the hell d'you need a personal fucking guard for, eh?! Why are they looking for you?!" He hissed it under his breath, scrambling for his shirt and dragging it on- there was nothing to be done about Austria's dress, there was no time, the gaggle of men was tramping nearer. They'd come down the slope any second now and Austria, bless her, tottered barefoot and virtually naked from the shore with absolutely nothing to add to the situation. 

"They must think that I have been out too long- perhaps they think me lost," she whispered, waving her arms uselessly, her face in a helpless panic- she reached for her dress, but Prussia grabbed her, and sat her down on her piled petticoats. She might have been an idiot, but he wanted to avoid being tossed in a cell, if he could help it- he had a nasty feeling her guards would try to pin treason or indecency or something else unreasonable on him. He wrapped a petticoat around her, swamping her as best he could to hide her shameful state, and added his coat for good measure- just as her men came into view up on the slope above them, calling for their mistress in that mildly puzzled way so fucking unique to Austrians. 

There was only one thing to do. Prussia clutched the front of his coat closed around her for dear life, and kicked her dress behind him, and put on his most theatrical airs. 

"Are you all right, Princess?! God, what a terrible fall you took! Right into the water! You should be more careful, Österreich, when you're walking around on your own! It was really fuckin' _lucky_ that I was around to fish you out! Isn't that so, h-hah?! _Right?!_ " 

\- 

Well, it wasn't a cell. 

More of a reception room, really, though the difference was only in the furnishings. Prussia was very aware of the squareness of the room and its single entrance, even the window carefully watched by a nervous-looking servant. He could easily have overpowered and evaded his would-be jailers, and they knew it, but he kept his temper (and his wits) and instead sat obediently in an armchair, brooding. It wouldn't be worth it to cause even more trouble (despite that the whole fiasco _absolutely hadn't been his fault_ ), he'd only get sent home and have to endure even more scolding at home. It almost amused him to think of how Brandenburg would despair over such an embarrassing scenario, but Prussia wasn't keen to actually let him find out about it. 

He'd been questioned and sternly warned over the incident, until he was bored to tears and frankly offended- on his own behalf, but also on Austria's. She was dim in many ways, once you got to know her, _naïve,_ strangely so- but the thought of _anyone_ being able to lure or threaten her into the woods without her clothes was ludicrous. Prussia had to forgive her servants, they were only human and thought like humans, but empires didn't just go around getting abducted. No, they went willingly, foolishly and without proper planning- like, for example, telling their staff they were going out and did _not_ need to be disturbed... 

It all could have been avoided if only Austria had anything resembling a self-preservation instinct, but then again, _she_ wasn't the one suffering the consequences. _She_ had virtually fainted on the scene to avoid coming up with a remotely convincing excuse, and she'd been hastily attended to, her modesty and her oh-so-fragile health preserved as they spirited her to her rooms. Her dignity was unaccounted for, but she hadn't seemed embarrassed to Prussia, who was beginning to envy her ridiculous lifestyle. Although, now that he thought about it, he'd caught a couple of guards getting a good look at the beautiful Alps and he'd been ready to be offended over that too- the Imperial bosom should only be for other countries to gawk at, surely- but to be frank, they'd seemed as frightened as they were awed. Austria had a very odd relationship with her people, in Prussia's opinion. Perhaps she tossed them into dungeons for that kind of thing, but they loved her even so. 

He could admit that she was lovely enough to risk her retribution, but if he had to be thrown in jail, he would have at least hoped for her to do it personally. This waiting business was becoming claustrophobic and exhausting. _What_ he was waiting for, he understood from the terse answers he'd pried out of his guards, was for Austria to give some kind of all-clear, that he hadn't done anything unspeakable to her. Which was true, and greatly disappointing. 

She must have really passed out, that was the only possible reason she could have to take so long clearing Prussia's name, as far as he was concerned. Some member of her household finally turned up, muttering to the others, and they shared a chagrined look before informing him they had been assured everything was all right, and he could go on his way. All very sterile and euphemistic, with light apologies (too light) for keeping him 'for his own wellbeing'. And, oh, he was advised not to bother Lady Austria, because she was feeling very delicate and intending to sleep off her shock. 

He took it for what it was- a threat they were too sensible to deliver directly- and grimaced at them as he hastily made his escape, storming down the hall and out the door with aggrieved mutters to himself. Maybe they'd wanted to force him back home and Austria had stopped them, or maybe they were relieved not to have to organise that particular international incident. It didn't matter to Prussia, he could forget some inconsequential Austrian lackeys the minute they were out of his sight- and their warnings, too. 

He wanted a _word_ with Austria. 

\- 

It was already growing dark outside by the time Austria was left alone in her room, with a _gentle_ suggestion that she stay put. At first, she'd played the innocent, grateful for her servants' coddling, insistent on the absurd story Prussia had come up with- that she had gone wandering and, being warm, thought to dip her feet in the pond, promptly falling in. Yes, her dress was dry and very much detached from her body, something she could not possibly have done by herself, and no, there was no adequate reason for her to ever go walking alone, nor for Prussia to just _happen_ to follow her, but no servant worth his wages would contradict her. They were all scared to death, in any case, because it was probably their responsibility to stop the seat of the Empire from toddling off to drown herself, and only the Emperor's bizarre preoccupations kept him from noticing her frequent troublemaking in that regard. 

Troublemaking her staff doubtlessly blamed on Prussia, and it had taken some doing, convincing them to let him return to his previous level of imposition on the household. Austria was not even entirely certain he deserved clemency after the embarrassment he had caused her with his idiot ideas, but the alternative was having him sent home in disgrace, which never reflected well on anyone. Or, of course, she could have let everyone believe he was some sort of horrible cad with a barely-thwarted agenda, which might land him on a gibbet, and public executions that didn't _take_ were always a mess. Besides, she had a conscience. Of a sort. 

It pained her, though, that what she got in return for her charity was being effectively sent to bed by people who were as mayflies next to her. Utterly ridiculous. They had fed her, bathed her, put her in her nightgown and brushed her hair until it shone and flew with static, just as if she were a child. She had half a mind to tell the _Hofmeisterin_ that she could recall her predecessor's predecessor being just as much of a nuisance, but they finally left her alone, in a sulk and without company. 

She threw off her robe in protest, leaving it on the floor in a puddle of rich colours and flitting around in her fine white nightgown, warm in her annoyance. It wasn't so much the misadventure, or even the interference of lesser beings. It was really the fact that her vague plans to let herself be seduced had been foiled. And she recognised, naturally, that trying to get up to anything enjoyable out there in a pond would have ended in failure, which made the whole thing more frustrating. If she had had any sense, she would have sequestered herself and Prussia in a comfortable room somewhere for the day, but no. Now she would have to contend with her servants watching her more closely or trying to send him quietly back to Königsberg, as if they had any idea about the dealings of kingdoms and empires. 

It wasn't that she expected him to be particularly good. Or that she really had a stick to measure 'good' by, at least a fair one- you really couldn't compare some backwater vaguely-virginal boy with a man like Hungary. But she wanted him. She liked him, and the way he looked at her and touched her, as if she was not delicate but a delicacy- to be happily devoured, when the chance arose. Austria liked that; she liked to feel _impressive,_ she was perhaps dimly realising. Hungary, she couldn't help feeling, had made love to her _in spite of;_ Prussia almost certainly wanted to _because of._

And thinking of Hungary, and all his pride and avoidance, made her want it _more._

She threw open her window to take in some cold air, with a big, haughty breath to indulge fully in her self-pity- and almost took an acorn to the face. 

"Ah!" 

"Shhh," someone said, from a tree branch. Austria's mood seemed to lift, just like that, with the groaning of the tree and the flash of white teeth in the night. 

Prussia clambered over, attaching himself to the stonework under her window and leaning heavily on the sill, quite careless about being several floors above the unforgiving ground. He grinned at her, but when she smiled back, he suddenly frowned- an exaggerated, probably faked expression of displeasure. 

"Oi, Princess, how long's it take to spring a man from undue imprisonment in this Godforsaken country, hah?" 

"As long as it takes for anyone to believe such a laughable lie, I suppose," she fired back, enjoying, already, their banter; she found she had an answer for him always, rolling from her tongue before thoughts formulated. "And what are you doing now? I shan't be able to convince them a second time." 

She leaned out of the window to peer down at the ground, genuinely wondering if anyone was around to see, but Prussia took the opportunity to pluck at the front of her nightgown where it sat low on her chest; Austria pursed her lips at him. 

"Guess you'll have to hide me, then," he said, smiling again, his voice low; it changed, when it was quiet, lost the sound of clashing bells and crow's calls. Austria bent her head, until her forehead touched his, a sigh on her lips as though he was being such a _burden,_ as though she hadn't been wanting him to throw caution to the wind and find a way to reach her. 

"You wish to enter my room?" She hadn't let him in since he'd _broken_ in. Not really on purpose, but he'd never asked- put off, perhaps, by that negative encounter, or else determined to prove he wasn't an intruder. A foolish endeavour, since he absolutely _was._ He intruded everywhere but her bed. It was possible that it intimidated him; she'd gleaned from his stilted exposition on the subject that he'd never been in the bedroom of a proper lady, and had no idea what to do in one. But, well, that was curable. "There is a toll." 

He was looking around her, into the room, slightly pensive, but his attention snapped back to her at that. Immediately, he was amused again, swaggering and unserious. 

"Eh? You're adding extortion to your list of crimes, are you? Well, lucky for you, I'm a rich man now, Princess," he joked, hefting himself up higher. "I'll pay the price." 

He kissed her, reckless and warm against the night air, and she pushed her long, loose curls behind her ear as she leaned into him; it was precarious, but that was the appeal, surely. Still she didn't dare put her hands on him in case he fell from the window, but he had no such compunctions, and her eyes opened at a sudden _chill_ when he hooked the front of her nightgown and pulled. 

Austria stepped back with a gasp, fumblingly trying to put it right again, but Prussia was already heaving himself over the sill and clambering in, his momentum propelling him to her, and he threw his arms around her with a cheeky, happy laugh. There was nothing much she could do about that, except laugh herself, into his shoulder, and collapse with him down to the floor. 

She bumped herself with their landing, but the rug was soft and Prussia slid easily between her legs, heavy and solid on top of her with his arms wrapped around her back and his breath humid on her neck. She let out a sigh, louder than she meant to, her fingers scratching through his hair and under the collar of his shirt- he was never fully dressed, but he couldn't hold a candle to her, in her flimsy nightgown and nothing else. It was long but it rode up with little prompting, the soft airiness of the fabric floating up around her waist while Prussia's hands slid up her thighs and found her generous hips. Ice cold, those hands, and she squealed, his lips silencing her with muffled laughter. This was what she wanted, silly and sudden, impetuous and irresistable in a way she couldn't quite understand. Far from the slow and nervous courtship she had been treated to in her innocence, this was what it was to be careless, unworried and indulgent. 

She looked at Prussia through her eyelashes when he took a breath, and his face was lit up with excitement, his dimples stretching nearly to his cheekbones, where red flowers bloomed. He was all kisses, all over her face and down her throat, and Austria felt his smile in every one, and couldn't keep her own off her face. She bit her lip, though, when he pressed down against her, his thin breeches letting her feel his hardness- that was awfully familiar, but now it was something she welcomed, her desire mounting quickly in response. It was organic, the way he moved his hips against her, and she locked her legs around his, eagerly pressing back. Prussia was sucking at her neck, a place guaranteed to give her chills; he nearly over-excited her by grabbing at her bared breasts, his fingers inexpert and rough with her nipples. It was like he knew how he wanted to enjoy her, and how to have her enjoy herself, but only in the most forthright and daring way, like he was giving his best shot at something he'd never really practiced. Instinctive, and honest. Austria had always thought herself a refined creature, but this had an appeal to something deep inside her- even if it would be imperfect, she wanted all his recklessness, all the pleasure that could be wrung out of heightened senses and intense attraction in the heat of a moment. 

"Preußen," she said, rolling her hips to feel him grind hard against her, a weak noise in her throat signalling her want; he kissed her feverishly, his laughter dispelled by concentration as he grabbed her leg and adjusted himself. It was obvious he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing with her body, and that he was too aroused to think it through, but he found some sense at last and groped himself for the fastenings of his breeches. Austria had no compunctions- she might regret it, when he was spent and she was not, but her lust was fooling her into wanting one thing only. And she might have had it, Prussia's breeches coming undone as she spread her legs in readiness, if it hadn't been for a distant voice from the hall. 

She heard it first, and turned her head towards the outer rooms of her chambers, instantly alert; Prussia was slower to react, but he soon froze, awkwardly poised to pull his cock out. The voice sounded again, close to the doors, and the two of them scrambled to their knees, exchanging an agonised look. 

"Lady-in-waiting," Austria gasped, her face flushed, "come with extra blankets or something else of equal uselessness- " 

"Fuck," Prussia cut in. "Is it locked- " 

"No." 

In an instant his breeches were buttoned and she had stuffed herself back into her nightgown, clambering to her feet and nearly dragging herself over to her discarded robe, before she remembered something much more important and tried to shove Prussia back towards the window. Perhaps she could have hidden him under the bed, but that would have been too sensible a solution, and the panic of the earlier inquisition weighed on her. And on Prussia, it seemed, because he didn't protest. 

"Go, go- _quickly-_ " 

"I'm fuckin' goin'!" He was halfway out the window, but he paused for a rushed kiss, and another, and Austria suppressed a shrill giggle, grabbing him by the collar to make it last. There was a wild excitement to it, desire and adrenaline still pumping her blood around her body, the disappointment not yet setting in. Prussia pulled himself from her with a last, fearless grin, clambering down the side of the building. 

"I'll be back- " 

"Come tomorrow- !" 

As he made his escape, Austria was forced to slam the window shut and hastily don her robe, tripping over herself on her way to snarl admonishments at her hapless assistant, disappointment clouding her mood with a vengeance. For a moment, she had been overwhelmed enough by warmth to let anything slide; suddenly, in the lingering night air, she felt cold. 

\- 

She woke expecting, perhaps without reason, another daring window visit, a risky intrusion while her servants' guards were down- for they never expected her to be awake at that hour. But nothing happened, and nothing continued to happen as she finally rose, and dressed, and breakfasted. 

Austria surmised that Prussia was lying low; fully awake and with her stomach full, she recovered her sense of caution, realising that it simply wouldn't do to parade their indiscretions now. But her curiosity- and the _bothersome_ memories he'd left her with the night before- pressed her to eventually ask for his whereabouts. The serving staff waiting upon her feigned ignorance at first; with narrowed eyes, Austria pressed a young footman in tones that left her authority in no doubt- _whichever_ of her body parts may have been on display the day before. 

"His Lordship was collected by his- er- " The young man broke off, no doubt stymied by Brandenburg's exact status. "By his retinue, so it seems, ma'am. He has returned to his court in order to attend to some urgent...business..." 

He trailed off, Austria already turning without a word to interrogate someone more important. Something had _happened,_ she could tell, and it irked her that it involved her guest fleeing before dawn. Irked her, and made her suspicious. 

And _His Lordship,_ indeed. Sometimes Austria thought lesser states were afforded far more courtesy than they deserved. 

\- 

It had been Brandenburg's opinion that Prussia should swiftly retire from his Viennese sojourn so as not to upset Austria further. Of course, Prussia protested that he hadn't upset her. The problem was, as Brandenburg explained, during the race against the sunrise to get out of town, that he was certainly _going_ to. 

He was dimly aware of the dregs of the war for Spain's possessions coming to an end, in the background of his self-centred romping with his _Princess,_ and of his (Brandenburg's) pocketbook being thoroughly tested by it all, but it was frankly news to Prussia that they were making up with France again and calling the whole thing off. And he could tell Brandenburg was exasperated by his nonchalance- the irritable straightening of his clothes told him everything he needed to know on that score- but he really couldn't see the issue. It was about time they all gave up on whatever table scraps they were fighting over, Prussia thought, his ambitions not really coinciding with England's or the Netherlands' or anyone's in particular. Not even Austria's- he'd been content enough to sell her his services and he was content enough to stop. 

Apparently this simple-minded view of the situation was the wrong argument to present, because it earned him a clip around the ear and a lecture about his inattentiveness. He didn't bother listening. 

At length they arrived home, Brandenburg _still_ explaining this and that as though Prussia was a child, while Prussia himself mostly sulked about having his holiday terminated. It was only when Brandenburg straightened his collar for the eleventh time and mentioned- off-handedly- that he had invited France _personally_ to discuss their newfound peace that Prussia began to pay attention again, but it was far too late. Too late to leap out of the carriage and ask to be treated as a political refugee in Vienna, too late to feign a stomachache and too late to get himself some plate armour for his nethers. Just in case that whole airborne pestilence thing was right. 

\- 

It didn't take long for Prussia to grow suffocated by being under Brandenburg's watchful eye again, his purse-strings tightly clutched by an irascible king. And that wasn't all the king did to offend him- other activities included sending threatening letters with penmanship and spelling that made Prussia, who _loved_ writing completely unnecessary letters, want to hide all his stationery. Then there were fun games like dodging the man's cane when he flung it in a rage, or anticipating when he was going to crack you across the shin with it. This atmosphere alone would have been enough to drive Prussia to avoid his own home, but the insult on top of his growing collection of injuries was his guest. If he'd had any sort of self-awareness, he might have understood why Austria sighed and sniped about the cost of hosting him, not to mention the frequent _interruptions_ from visitors long outstaying their welcome. 

At least he could say he had never lurked around Austria's bedroom in a state of undress- well- he hadn't made a _habit_ of it. _France_ had neither Austria's sense of outraged propriety nor Prussia's deep-seated Christian terror, and she simply laughed whenever he ordered her away from his chambers in a cracking voice. Cultural differences, he'd once been led to believe, were the explanation behind her disregard for personal space, her extraordinarily lax dress in front of gentlemen (him) and the _amorous_ kisses she gave in greeting- those, admittedly, he had never really minded. But he was growing less and less certain of these so-called French habits, and more and more certain that she had designs on his relative chastity. And, yes, a part of him absolutely wanted her to drop the rest of what passed for her clothing and fling herself on his bed- as she always seemed this close to doing, when she called on him- but the rest of him was violently fighting his flight reflex just long enough to get rid of her. She was a terror, France, a horribly attractive creature who seemed only ever half-sincere about whatever she was saying; she far outstripped him in carnal knowledge, and seemed to take almost a cruel pleasure in letting him know, even as she desperately pursued him. That sort of complexity was too much for Prussia. 

It shouldn't have surprised anyone that he took the opportunity- while France was busy charming Brandenburg, who was apparently both man enough and stupid enough to enjoy it- to make good his escape back to Vienna in short order. It wouldn't do any harm, he thought, it would probably be business as usual over there. Why on earth would Austria be upset about yet another petty war coming to an end? 

\- 

"How _dare_ you show up here uninvited?" Austria demanded, most upset, evidently. 

"Eh?" It left Prussia perplexed; he'd thought to surprise her with a bunch of flowers ( _not_ her own), sneaking up on her in the courtyard, but the flowers dangled from his hand while he tried to process her livid expression. "Uninvited- Princess, I only went home for a little bit to sign off on somethin', I thought- " 

"Sign off on what, precisely? Oh- that is right!" Her style of sarcasm, what with her aristocratic diction, really toed the line between alarming and hilarious. "A _treaty_ with Frankreich! Did you think I would not discover your duplicitousness?" 

"My what?" 

"Your disobedience? Your disloyalty? _England_ turning traitor is always to be expected, but my own Imperial friends- my compatriots- my _vassals-_ " 

"Oi," he cut in, not sure that _friends_ and _vassals_ quite belonged in the same sentence, but Austria was getting worked up, and ignored him. 

"I'm simply appalled, I hope you know," she said, pacing like a caged tiger with her wide skirts- _black,_ like someone had _died-_ whirling about her. Her heels clicked on the flagstones like those of a soldier doing drills. "I _trusted_ that you would faithfully serve my interests and instead you are following the example of all these other foreign turncoats! I'm not _finished_ with Spanien," she cried, and there was something almost pitiful in her words. She rallied instantly from whatever had made her slip, however, rounding on him. " _What_ do you have to say for yourself?!" 

Prussia had no idea, truthfully. But that had never stopped him from blustering through an answer, and her fit of pique stirred an answering irritation in him, against all better judgement. "Well- for starters- this shit is driving us all broke, _and,_ in case you didn't know, my King likes to keep track of his fuckin' spending by the number of bruises on my ass! Think about that, would you?! And another thing- you tried to give my shit away to Niederlande to keep him involved- " 

"That was done without my input, I _repeatedly_ told you!" 

" -which makes it fuckin' obvious that everyone was in it for themselves and they'd bail out as soon as they could! I've been a damn sight more dedicated than some!" He barrelled over her, hands on his hips, his greater height giving him (he thought) some kind of advantage; she did stop her storming about, looking as aghast as if he'd put his feet on the dinner table. "And I think that deserves some kinda thanks, honestly! You should be saying 'well done, good show, Preußen, go ahead and take it easy, you've done enough'! And how about welcoming me a little more nicely, hah?! Treatin' me like some commoner who climbed the fence, by God- like you weren't _begging_ for me to come back last time I saw you!!" 

There was perhaps an instant between the end of Prussia's aggressively triumphant speech- complete with shaking of his bouquet towards Austria- and the dawning of his realisation that he had let his mouth run far away with his brain. It wasn't long enough to let him formulate any sort of regret, or indeed any escape, before he found the bouquet snatched from him and promptly slapped against his face. It was through a flurry of petals that he saw her furiously offended expression, her cheeks scarlet with some unspeakably dramatic emotion. 

"Begone from my house at once, you- you- " She broke off breathlessly, her considerable bosom trembling as she struggled to think of a word heinous enough for him. "You- _miserable little fiefdom!_ How dare you so much as suggest- you self-important little- I have never in all my life- hrn- _ooh!_ " 

It was sort of a talent by itself, that screechy, frustrated noise she could make when properly riled up. Prussia watched her turn on her heel, nearly swaying with the weight of her dress, and march away in a fine temper all the way back to her apartments, surprising courtiers and slamming doors. It gave him a small satisfaction to see her so _infuriated_ by the idea that she'd wanted him, a 'miserable little fiefdom' in her mind- and _that_ gave him a sharp twinge of annoyance- but the longer he stood there plucking petals off his face, the only thing he was left feeling was rather stupid. 

It wouldn't do to have her stay angry at him, not least because it would prove Brandenburg entirely correct, and forestall all his painstaking attempts to be taken seriously by a Lady of her (Apparently) Distinguished Calibre, and the Empire besides. He would obviously have to win her back, somehow. That, of course, supposed he'd ever had her at all, but it didn't pay to be negative about these things. 

\- 

Hungary looked studiously over the papers set in front of him, and Austria watched him intently, her hands steepled in front of her face. She was looking for a sign of his reaction- approval, in the best case- but it was hard to keep other observations at bay; he looked slightly more casual, and more practical somehow in his dress, than she was used to, but he looked well. Like a man committed to hard work, and perhaps that was not how Austria the Empire wanted him to look, on the heels of a rebellion- but for Austria the woman, it was heartening in a way. To know that he endured, and neither the uprising or its failure had daunted him. 

Hope rose in her face as he shuffled the documents slightly and looked up across the table- he was a touch careworn, she noticed, but there was calm in his demeanour that comforted her. A comfort for her conscience, maybe, if she was honest, but she saw so little of him lately. She could be forgiven for finding relief in his presence. 

He didn't speak, so she prompted him. "Well? How do you find it?" 

"A lawful Hungarian king," he said, rubbing his chin. 

"Or queen," Austria added, automatically; it was pointless pushing for this change, if her true objective was forgotten. Hungary raised an eyebrow at her, and almost seemed to smile down at the papers again. 

"Hmm," he said, non-committal, but he voiced no objection. "These terms would be an improvement, no doubt about it. We'll certainly consider it." 

"You will consider it?" Austria tried at the last moment to make her remark sound encouraging and positive, as if considering her proposal was a perfectly good outcome, and she hadn't expected him to immediately acquiesce. Of course, it would take some time and discussion to iron it out. Of course. "Very good- naturally you must put it to the magnates..." 

"Yes, well," Hungary replied, seemingly letting her get away with her ruse, "they'll be in more of a mood to hear it, now the Emperor himself's _almost_ apologised to them. They like to feel important." 

He raised his eyes to her, a twinkle in them still, and she gave him a slight smile. "As all aristocrats do." 

"I don't think even yours are as troublesome as mine, Ausztria," he laughed, though there was an exasperation behind it. Whether he was tired of their obstinacy and rabble-rousing, or merely disappointed that they hadn't succeeded, she couldn't possibly tell. In her opinion they were long overdue for a cull, but they had to be appeased, just like her own. It was odd, that flicker of resentment towards a class she had wholeheartedly embraced, but no nation could fully commit to the confines of human nonsense. It was an affectation, in the end. 

"But I have so many more to worry about, Ungarn," she said, to lighten the conversation, and he conceded with a wry nod. But his eyes lingered on the papers, and he looked torn; Austria tapped her fingers gently against the top of one page, where the title loomed in swooping calligraphy. _Pragmatic,_ she'd called it. The irony being that it was not, strictly- more a convoluted mess of self-interest- but she liked to think that she was. It was a good word, better than _calculating, selfish, ruthless._ It was time for a touch of pragmatism. 

"Take your time with it," she said, as if it mattered not one wit. "We will discuss all aspects of it in due course, at your leisure. At any rate I have other people to contend with, a touch more urgently, if you will forgive that admission..." 

Hungary followed her fingers as a snake does a charmer's flute, then looked up to her face. "You mean your- er- war...colleagues?" 

"There are all sorts of things going on," she replied, euphemistically, "but yes, with all these treaties and alliances and whatnot, there is room for some negotiation, and, well." 

"You want everyone else to agree to this," he said, scratching his cheek, where a light stubble grew. He usually shaved closely, but it was sort of attractive on him, despite being out of fashion for a gentleman. "Do you think that's..." 

"What?" 

"Realistic? It would serve a lot of people's purposes if you had no direct heir." 

"Of course it would, that is the point," Austria said briskly. "They want to see my property all split up, as if they were at the reading of my will. Vultures to a man, Ungarn. But if they want something from me, they must make concessions. And _that_ is what I want." 

She tapped the paper again; she didn't know when the Emperor's ceaseless quest to secure the future of his house, in the hands of an imaginary daughter, had become her own. But at this point, she was synonymous with the House of Habsburg, they belonged to her; the thought of some Bavarian duke coming to take possession of her made her bristle with displeasure, and her power would be irreparably diminished if she lost the Habsburg's personal belongings. She _was_ a Habsburg, practically, that was how the world saw Austria- she even used the name, when she wanted to blend in. It was quite personal, now, this edict she was trying to push. 

Hungary was quiet, and blank for a moment. Was he disbelieving that it could be achieved? Or was he thinking of how it might, one day, serve his purposes to see her power decentralised and broken? 

"What do I get, then, if I agree to it?" he asked, amusement in his voice again. 

"Why, I should never try to buy your approval, Ungarn," Austria said, coyly deflecting. He had already _gotten,_ as far as she was concerned, but she didn't think there was a need for that sort of crude mercantile bargaining between _them._ "You must decide for yourself on this matter. You remember, of course, that if you choose not to take this up, and if we fail to produce a male heir, then our arrangement will be...null." 

"Yeah, I remember," he said, slowly. "Kingship back in the hands of the magnates." 

"Naturally. And- I must be honest- the appearance of _any_ child at this point seems a slim chance." Austria looked down at her lap, folding her hands there primly. "So you see, you have the opportunity to leave me, if that is what you desire." 

There was a pause; she barely looked up, and caught a slightly wide-eyed look on Hungary's face as he, no doubt, contemplated exactly what that would entail. No more Imperial support against the still-persistent Ottoman; no more lordship over him. She wondered what he valued more. Of course her behaviour now was _pragmatic,_ poised to urge his loyalty, without outright asking for it. But she supposed the success of that tactic depended less on politics, and more on whether he still had feelings for her. A part of her- sullen over her new playmate's idiocy- was very curious to know that, in any case. 

"Ausztria," he said, finally, "don't put it like that." 

"I don't know what you mean." 

"Really," he sighed. Austria knew that sigh, that look. "I don't want to- well, _leave_ you- but you already...you probably already think I did, don't you?" 

"I am speaking of our formal situation," she said, carefully, and though her eyes fluttered away from his just as they should, a sincerity was creeping into her actions, despite herself. "I don't think anything about our personal separation." 

"Oh, Ausztria." Hungary reached over the table, and after a pause, she lifted a hand to put it in his. "It didn't- I didn't mean...you know, it doesn't have to be like that. I know you think- it's always the way it was with Spanyolország, but if...even if we separated, couldn't we- ?" 

She might have asked him not to use Spain's name around her, if he didn't have such an unwieldy version of it that it almost made her laugh. Austria distracted herself with that thought, her fingers fidgeting in his; he was looking at her earnestly, but somehow she felt strange about it now. It hadn't been very long, since they had last been together, but perhaps he was right- perhaps she did think of relationships as oddly finite now, of endings as final. It made no sense, with Hungary- not yet, anyway. But he seemed to be envisioning a future where he was out of her grasp, her equal perhaps, and they could pursue some fanciful humanlike romance. Unaffected by war and shifting priorities. She wanted whatever he had been drinking. 

"I do not think so, Ungarn," she said, and she saw him, instantly, recognise how misguided his own suggestion had been, though she didn't fault him for it. "If we separate, we open ourselves up to conflict, to distance. You know this. How can any lover...how can anyone ignore those things?" 

In the end, he was just the same species as she was; he wanted to have his cake, and eat it, just as any of them did. A noble man, but a nation all the same. To regain his autonomy, and keep her- her military support or her love, whichever- that was his delusion. And he knew it as well as she did. He knew he would have to play the game according to the rules. Did he think their relationship would survive a final parting, when even a scuffle drove them away from each other? It was senseless to fight it. 

He squeezed her fingers, with a heavy sigh. "You're right." 

"Of course," she said, and a smile flickered over his face. "And that is why I must...ask you to choose this. I will not impose it upon you. I will honour our prior agreement. But..." 

Austria lowered her voice; the line between calculated and honest grew blurry and thin. "We are friends, are we not? I would have it remain so." 

If he'd been on guard against her persuasion before, it fell apart now. His eyes warmed, but he looked pained. Unsurprising; she was giving him the most sugar-coated ultimatum. But she could wait, and she squeezed his hand in return. 

"Do not trouble yourself with it now." Austria rose, slipping away from him. Hungary stood with her, mannerly as ever. "I am afraid I must go." 

"Yes...leave it with me, and I'll give you an answer when I can," he said, following her as she made for the door. She had to admire his forthrightness in the face of such a difficult topic. "It was good to see you, Ausztria." 

He leaned down to open the door for her, and she paused, turning. "You can visit, you know. You are not confined to Buda." 

"I know," he said, with a quick smile. "I will." 

"See that you do," she said, in a rush of spoiled amusement, like the games they used to play, and at that he breathed a quiet laugh. 

"Yes, miss." He leaned a little more, closing the gap between them, to kiss her on the cheek, lingering and full; she returned the gesture, brushing his shoulder softly. It wasn't the same, but it was indefinably comforting, like an old song. 

She left him with a held gaze and a goodbye. She had exerted her pressure, and now it was in his hands. Austria had other fish to fry, and _they_ would find her less sentimental. 

\- 

Though just as sensual, perhaps. 

France hadn't yet spoken of her dealings with Austria, in the wake of the war's closing, and Prussia hadn't asked. Mostly because he didn't want to bring Austria up at all, and invite France's merciless teasing. He'd been avoiding her so as not to slip up, but Austria's rejection weighed on him- not as it would on a mature man, heavy and sad, but as it does on a boy- agitating, agonising and almost arousing. He needed advice. He needed assistance. And he needed it soon, before he lost any sense of restraint and went racing back to Vienna to plead his case unsuccessfully for the fifth time. He had finally stopped trying, accepting her lingering fury as a fact; Brandenburg had persuaded (threatened) him to let her be, and not upset the situation any further, while negotiations were on the table still. Prussia found it hard to care about all the petty politicking going on, but personally, he thought Brandenburg was just afraid of Austria finding out he'd been hosting France so much lately. 

It did make it easier for Prussia to stay out of her range, while she was busy doing God knew what to Brandenburg- a more pathetic sight of a man he never did see than Bran adjusting his collar under his red face of a morning- but as time ticked by, and he ached for the lack of _his_ (would-be) companion, his mind turned to a wild conclusion. 

How do you attract the attention of a woman who dislikes everything you stand for? France would certainly know. 

He resolved to ask her at the nearest opportunity- as soon as possible before his nerve gave out, and with a bloodstream full of strong drink, if it could be arranged. As luck would have it, it came quickly- she showed up for dinner, and though she held her tongue in the presence of the nobility, she made as much eye contact with him from her end of the table as she was physically capable of, until Prussia thought she might end up putting a wine cork in her mouth instead of food while she wasn't paying attention. He blushed to his ears the entire time, but at least he could be assured she'd give him the time of day afterwards. 

He made much use of the port bottle after dinner, but as he slunk away to his room, he found his Teutonic tolerance working against him. Perhaps it was for the best. 

\- 

She was lounging on a couch in his bedroom; he wasn't one to clutter the place up with decorative elements- just his magpie-hoard of vaguely interesting items- but he'd left it there so he could avoid reading in bed, it wasn't good for his posture. _France_ obviously had no interest in keeping good posture, not with the way she'd draped herself on it. She was dressed, at least- not by society's standards, in something like a gentleman's banyan, but it was good enough for Prussia. 

"Don't you ever fuckin' knock?" 

"What good would it do to knock, when you're not here?" She rolled slightly to one side, like some horrible cat, uncaring that it wasn't supposed to be on the furniture. 

"Maybe you shouldn't be in people's rooms without 'em, hmm?!" Prussia kicked off his shoes, shucking his jacket and hanging it from a convenient corner before he attacked his waistcoat and necktie. It wasn't for France's benefit, just for his own comfort, but perhaps it would be useful anyway; she watched him with interest and a permanent smirk. "What do you want this time? I see you got out of your underwear by yourself already, so it can't be that!" 

France laughed, a sound that slithered between warmth and mockery. "Don't play coy, Prusse, you were staring at me all evening- " 

"I was _not-_ " 

"You practically invited me," she finished smoothly, and Prussia quieted with a disgruntled hum. She was too aware, too quick on the uptake for his liking, despite that he'd hoped for exactly this outcome. It wouldn't kill her to drop her sexual omniscience and humour him for once in her life. "The question is _what for,_ darling." 

"What for? Why's it gotta be for something? Maybe I just wanted your company," he said, evasive and almost sulky, kicking at the carpet, but a part of him found amusement in teasing her with an obvious lie. France snorted in response. 

"Please, come up with something more convincing, if you're trying to put a narrative together here," she said, sitting up to look at him with her robe falling off her shoulders. "Next you'll be telling me you want to talk business." 

"No thanks, you'n'Bran have got that covered," Prussia replied, still not looking at her, but making a point of checking his fingernails. A thought came to him, however, and he moved to sit on his bed, leaning on his knees to finally frown over at France. "But hell, since he hasn't seen fit to fill me in, what's the news? What dumbass decision are we making this week?" 

"And which previous decision are you implying to be stupid, Prusse?" She lay down again, watching him upside-down; he could see down her cleavage from his vantage point. She slipped a long, slender leg out of her robe, too. He liked a little more to sink his fingers into, on the whole, but he couldn't really _complain_ about the spectacle before him, except for the sort of general low-burning anxiousness it came with. 

"Pissing off- the Empire," he said, finally, an unnatural break in his words where he skirted Austria's name at the last second. "Listen, I know you fuckin' live to do that, but some of us- " 

"Some of you are obsessed with that little vixen, I know," France cut in, rolling her eyes. "I've heard all about it- " 

"Eh?!" Prussia's head snapped up at that, his expression unflatteringly aghast. _Who the fuck sold him out?_ "What- what the fuck are you talking about?! H-Hah- I'm not- obsessed?! Where the fuck'd you get- " 

" _Brandebourg,_ I'm talking about," she said, squinting at him; the way she said his brother's name was pretentiously frilly and somehow slimy. Then there was the implication that Brandenburg was somehow lusting after his, er, lady...friend who was not currently his friend, but he didn't care about any of that, looking like a deer about to become venison in the face of France's suspicious look. "I've heard Little Miss Empire's praises sung enough for my entire life- but what are _you_ looking so unnerved over, chéri?" 

She knew. There was no way she didn't know, not with that evil grin she was wearing. Perhaps she'd pieced it together from Bran's idiot ramblings, or she had spies in Vienna; it didn't quite occur to Prussia that she was reading it off his face. He stood up abruptly. 

"N-Nothing- shut up," he stammered, barrelling on before she could question him further. They were losing sight of the whole reason for her being there, for Christ's sake. "Oi, forget about Bran's weird shit, I don't wanna know what you two talk about- but it don't sound very gentlemanly to talk to a girl about someone else, I'll say that. Say, isn't that about the worst thing you can do with a woman?" 

It was highly unlikely to have genuinely distracted her, he felt, but she pursed her lips knowingly and let him get away with it. "I wouldn't recommend it. Although I can't say _I_ mind as much as others might." 

Prussia bit back a response along the lines of _that's because you're not a woman, you're a vampire._ "Yeah, well...good, 'cause I wanna ask you- " 

"About your lady love?" 

"Fucking hell- about a- just a girl! Girls! In general," he said, weakly, his face hot with regret, but something told him to press on. France had already seen too much for him to just give up and eject her now, he'd never hear the end of it. "N-Now, are you gonna listen or what?" 

She sat up, with grace, and drummed long fingers- like Austria's, a little, but more... _claw-like-_ against the seat beside her. "Come on, then, if I must be your agony aunt." 

He almost obeyed, his leg twitching, but he stopped himself and held his ground by the bed, swallowing hard before he spoke. "You come over here." 

"Oh?" France raised her eyebrow, dark blonde and well-plucked, and her soft blue eyes glittered. It was funny how she had so much in common with Austria, and so little. "Well, I don't mind if I do, my dear." 

At least she was humorous and matter-of-fact, sweeping over to him, and past him, flopping down on his bed as if it was her own, and promptly tugging at the back of his pants to pull him down with her. He gave a great sigh- his life was really so hard- and let her, bouncing them both with his weight against the feather-bed and all the covers. Immediately, her arm was around his waist, her chest pressed tight to his as she lay heavily against him and smiled into his face. 

"Tell me, then," she said, a hand on his belly and beginning to rove around; he clamped his own down over it. "What can I advise you on?" 

"Well, first off," Prussia began, looking up at the canopy, "say there's a woman- a-a lady- Christ, stop that for a minute- right, so she's pissed at me because I did something she didn't like- " 

"What? In the bedroom?" 

" _No,_ Jesus. I mean poli- SOCIALLY- socially. Like I- let's say I talked to someone she fucking hates, all right?" 

"Oh my," France droned, "I cannot imagine who that might have been." 

"Shut up. Anyway she went fucking nuts and, you know, we were nearly- like I almost- you _know,_ and now she won't even have dinner with me and it's all really fuckin' stupid and I don't really care except it's just unfair, you know?! It's fucking up my social life!" 

"Because of course this lady is so very socially important," France supplied, and Prussia spared her a look now, just to glare at her. "All _right,_ my love, don't look at me like that, I'll play along- if you will _let_ me play..." 

Her fingers wiggled under his, and begrudgingly, he let them go, to sneak around under his shirt and the waistband of his breeches. It wasn't as if it was unpleasant, though the tickling distracted him from his carefully crafted story. Which, he was realising, wasn't carefully crafted or even much of a story at all. But never mind that, he had to establish one thing- 

"I'm not gonna fuck you," he said, in a rush, while France's lips were on his jaw, and her hand plucked at his buttons; he made no move to stop her, but he was adamant about that one fact. Peculiarly so, some might say- and she definitely would- but there was just some sort of mental barrier to _that,_ for him. He'd been willing, more than willing, to cross it with Austria, but France held a special power of intimidation in her va- in her- _in her._

She laughed at him, her blonde hair messy as it slipped from her bun, her teeth somewhat larger than average in her wickedly pink mouth. "Yes, yes, your religion is acting up, you think I am _la porte d'enfer-_ " 

"Don't be- don't be fuckin' stupid- " That was more or less exactly the case, but what an embarrassing thing for even him to admit. " _Listen-_ we can...y'know. _Y'know,_ " he stressed, when she looked at him with interest, as if that would make it plainly clear that he wanted a lesson in more than social graces. It had come to him slowly, but he'd eventually realised that even if he and Austria had managed to have sex on her bedroom floor, she probably wouldn't have been...impressed. It would be one thing to sway her back to his side, another altogether to keep her there, if he failed to measure up to- well- _whoever_ she had been messing around with who happened to have an uncommonly developed body that he'd totally seen in the bath before. The thought was appalling. And France was the answer. 

She made an exaggerated, whispered _oh,_ in response to his non-suggestion, but Prussia was sure she could figure it out, given time. She was making pretty good headway with her hand down his trousers. As much as he hated it, France was lovely to look at, perhaps in a harder way than he would most like. Fine cheekbones and a wide, well-shaped mouth, a long neck and elegant shoulders- bare shoulders, he noted, and bare breasts too as her robe slipped down, smallish, attractively firm and pointed. He'd seen them before, without having (or wanting) to ask, but he put a bold hand out this time to cup one and squeeze. 

"S- s-so anyway- how would I, ah- how do I get her in a good mood again?" It was sort of soothing, actually, kneading her and pulling on her nipple. He didn't notice her rolling her eyes. 

"First of all, Prusse, and this is very important," she said, tilting his jaw and forcing him to look her in the eye; she was close enough to kiss, and probably would, soon enough. "You must agree to whatever nonsensical thing she puts in front of you next, because she'll never be happy otherwise." 

"Er- right...well- I can't exactly control that, can I- wait, what do you know that I don't know?" 

"I don't know anything about your anonymous sweetheart," France said, and Prussia made a face. Whatever, he'd just ask Bran- and it shouldn't be too hard to get _him_ to do whatever the hell Austria told him to. Not that he really wanted to start a trend of absolute obedience, but if it worked for now, it worked. "Anyway, Prusse, the next part- " 

"Yeah?" 

"Grovel," she said, pecking his lips, her hand around his half-hard cock. "Make an absolute fool of yourself and tell her positively anything she wants to hear. Apologise for being worthless in all aspects and inform her that she is perfect. Give her something shiny, God knows that will probably sweeten her up- " 

"A-Anonymous," Prussia interjected, writhing a bit, shamefully; he moved his hand now from France's chest down her front, fumbling around vaguely under her robe. 

"Yes, whatever," she said, not looking the slightest bit concerned about what he was doing. It was almost as if her mind was elsewhere while she talked about how one would seduce an anonymous Empire- or possibly how one would repeatedly fail to do so. Prussia couldn't quite tell if she thought of Austria as an object of lust or of derision, but then he was rather preoccupied. "Give her a glass of dessert wine or two, dance something scandalous with her and generally fucking _persuade_ her, Prusse, that she would like to go to bed with you- and do it _in_ a bed, for God's sake." 

He was making a mental note of all her questionable advice, his mouth wandering her neck- Austria loved that, he knew- and didn't really notice, or care, how exasperated she seemed when she corrected the course of his hand; he felt the hot and humid space between her legs, the coarse hair there, and waggled his fingers around experimentally. It wasn't so bad, doing this with her, actually- it was the exact opposite, really, of what he should be doing with the object of his affections, but he had to cut his teeth somehow. 

But France's patience, and overwhelming appetite, had limits, and he felt her push against his chest, pulling herself up and away from him. He looked up, mildly puzzled. 

"What?" 

"You'll never persuade her with that," she said, half-amused and half-scornful. She unfastened her robe, and it fell away in a bundle of colourful patterns around her naked figure, her long legs spread almost casually; there was a manliness to the way she sat, sometimes, despite her flowery feminine airs. She patted her thigh, and Prussia scrambled on to his knees, looking questioningly at her. Her face, that is. After a moment, anyway. 

"Uh." 

"This is the most important part," she said, beckoning, and Prussia crawled towards her, not wholly sure why, or if it was wise. 

"Which would be...?" 

" _You know,_ " she said, mockingly, and she tugged at his shirt, until he lay down on his belly. Ah. So she did understand him. 

He wrapped his arms under her thighs, and licked his lips, breathing hard. He'd seen and heard all about it. It couldn't be that different from a man. Or kissing, or something. And it was supposed to be some magical key to a woman's, ah, heart. Well worth the practice. 

Prussia opened his mouth to ask something, but France put her finger against her lips, and then against his, and then she slid all of her fingers into his hair, and he had to say, he didn't mind that part at all. 

\- 

Being in a distinctly feudal sort of relationship was a constant dance between offending one's liege lord, and appeasing her. Well, him, technically, but it was _her_ you had to worry about. 

It was well that Brandenburg took care to remember that fact. He showed the utmost politeness in Austria's presence, whether he'd pleased her lately, or infuriated her. At the moment of his latest visit, she was in a stage of simmering irritation and thinking mostly of petty vengeance, her war finally ended but her comrade's slights not forgotten; it was all too easy to subtly heap abuse on Brandenburg, what with his general air of self-abasement. But he wasn't a fool, she had to admit that. He hadn't visited to let her vent her spleen on him (well, perhaps a little), he'd come with news to cheer her up- and prove his loyalty, after so many _nasty_ rumours about his French sympathies had flown. Admittedly Austria felt they were probably more personal than practical, but that was quite bad enough. 

He had an impeccable sense of timing, Brandenburg, and she pursed her lips at him, giving him a shrewd look before she nodded in approval at the papers he put in her hand. Agreeing without much thought to her Sanction? It was almost enough to make one forget he'd ever misbehaved. 

Or, rather, that his junior partner had, but that was the trouble with being in charge of someone. Austria knew it all too well. 

"Why, Brandenburg, it is almost as if you have signed this without so much as reading it," she joked, and he inclined his head with a slight smile- _just so, my lady,_ he was so predictable. But he looked her in the eye, a confident statesman. 

"I assure you I have read it. We simply have no objection." 

"Hmm." Austria perused his official statement again, glancing up at him once or twice- it was a kind of endurance test she liked to subject him to, her weighty pauses and ambiguous looks. He didn't crack, to his credit, a cool blue stare steady on her face. He reminded her of herself, with his pale features and long, dark hair. Their family situation was all very strange and better not to question. "I suppose you will be wanting some favour, regardless of what you have said here." 

"I would only ask that you think of us as loyal friends to the Empire and give our needs due consideration when they arise," he said, as if he was reading from a page, but rather than dull, his tone of voice was calmly soothing. So he wanted some sort of blank cheque, that was it. 

"Very well, consider this noted," she said, airily, carefully setting the documents aside; she noticed Brandenburg's body language itching to add something before he spoke. 

"There is one thing, my lady- " 

"Österreich, please." 

"Österreich," he corrected, politely. "This is on behalf of my younger brother, as well." 

"Naturally..." _And what does he want?_ She stopped herself from saying it aloud. 

"If I might speak freely," Brandenburg continued, lowering his voice just a bit and leaning in- the man was almost too courteous, for a nation. "He's been quite...remorseful over offending you." 

"I should hope so, Brandenburg." 

"Ah, well. My brother is young and st- uneducated about certain matters. I apologise for his bothering you when he ought not to have been in Vienna at all." 

"After I received news of your betrayal, you mean," Austria said, sardonically, propping up her cheek with her hand. Brandenburg seemed to suppress a wince. 

"It was in poor taste and showed an unforgivable lack of manners," he said, swiftly moving on from that remark. "But as I said, he's been wringing his hands over it, so to speak. He wanted to attend today, as a matter of fact, but I forbade it." 

"Oh?" It didn't exactly surprise her that Prussia was still looking for any excuse to visit her, probably to shout more non-apologies. It didn't impress her, either, that his brother had stepped in on his behalf. "For the best, I think." 

"Absolutely," Brandenburg replied, but he steepled his fingers before him on the table; they sat at one side, together, rather than opposite each other. Austria preferred to unnerve him slightly with her proximity. "But I thought I should mention it. He wanted to deliver our answer himself as a show of his contrition, you know. He meant no disrespect." 

Austria narrowed her eyes at him, wondering for a moment if this was some matchmaker nonsense, before deciding it almost certainly wasn't. Brandenburg was intensely concerned with appearances, and he'd been cursed with a ward who liked to ruin them. Cursed by her, that is. She still wasn't sure it had been a good idea- he did his utmost to school Prussia in diplomacy and manners, she could see that, but she doubted he really had the spine of steel necessary to beat that boy's past out of him. And a joint state having internal squabbles with no clear show of dominance was always something to keep a close eye on, but it wasn't her precise problem, yet. 

"Yes, well...I do think you are better equipped to handle official business, if I may say so." To be honest, she wasn't sure whether to believe a word of it. _Contrition,_ indeed. That was Brandenburg's term, not Prussia's. And yet...he wasn't a liar, as such- no more than she was. If he'd had to forbid Prussia's tagging along, then at least she knew that he'd wanted to see her. The question was really whether or not she wanted to see him. 

Did she? 

Perhaps a little. A very little. Perhaps it was boring, not having anyone at all around the house to laze about and ignore work with. And there was something to be said for the subject of your ire actually being present for you to shout at, at the very least. She'd had- well- _offers_ from certain people who might like to enjoy her company, but she didn't care to travel, and couldn't muster much enthusiasm for transient, shallow encounters. She was a would-be stepping stone for lesser nations, Austria had long realised, and the whole conniving lot of them could forget it. But Prussia- he made no secret of wanting to see and be seen in her presence, yet he was so simple about it, it didn't irk her in the same way. 

How strange, that she should make her living out of the intricacies of relationships, but be so drawn in by a person who floundered carelessly through them. Austria couldn't tell if he was separating his personal life from his politics, or if he was unable to even recognise the difference. It was foolish of her, to be taken in by him. She knew that. 

She would just have to make sure she kept him in his place. He couldn't get _ideas._ But he could entertain her. If he was really contrite. 

"Österreich?" Brandenburg was peering at her; she hadn't been listening to him, drifting on her thoughts. 

"Ah. You said Preußen wanted to come." 

"Yes," he said, cautiously. "I thought perhaps a formal visit to pay his respects- er- supervised, that is- " 

"No, that won't be necessary," Austria cut in, and Brandenburg gave her a puzzled look. "I intend to give a ball, very soon...I have not yet sent formal invitations, but you may pass the information along." 

For a moment he looked slightly frozen, as though he wasn't sure bringing Prussia to a party was the best course of action. "Oh. I see." 

Austria quirked an eyebrow at him. "You _will_ attend?" 

"Oh, yes, certainly," he said, quickly. "I'll make sure he- I mean, we would be glad to." 

"I am sure the guest list will be somewhat diminished, in any case," Austria said, rolling her eyes, but she was satisfied. 

\- 

Invitations trickled out- to the A list and the B list, in a cautious sequence according to the complexities of the social scene. Prussia clutched his in his pocket, folded and creased and read over and over. It had asked for a response, and although Brandenburg had given one already, he was taking it upon himself to do so in person. Being invited to a _party-_ a _ball,_ a fancy one- was something of an event for him in itself, but the fact that it was Austria's doing gave it utmost importance. In his mind, it meant she had forgiven him at least halfway, and that was as good as inviting him back to her house for tea. Surely she'd appreciate his personal response and forgive him the rest of the way. Then he could focus on really important things, like what he was going to wear to make the deepest impression on Europe at this party- and then how he might apply some of his new tricks at the afterparty. All in good time. 

He half-strolled, half-ran across a courtyard and a patch of carefully-tended grass, light on his feet with a carefree look about his face; he almost missed the carriage being parked nearby, but someone alighted from it, and it caught his attention. Prussia gave it a glance, then a double-take, tripping around to walk backwards and see who it was. Ah. _Hungary._

He slowed to a halt, the corner of his mouth twitching with a grin. Hungary was always good for a laugh. Or a fight. Something in the realm of both. Prussia had his own history with the man- _man,_ he had to allow it, begrudgingly- and that was the first impulse towards antagonising him, but there was a second. It had always been amusing and rather aggravating to see Hungary fawn over Austria, when she kept him in the position of her servant. How he felt about Austria occasionally fawning in return was more ambiguous. It was galling to see a powerful entity sort of _forget_ her status, if that was what she was doing- but if it was insincere on her part, why, then, it was laughable that she thought anyone would buy it. And a touch uncomfortable in a way he couldn't put his finger on, a complicated relationship he boiled down to something shady in his mind. The two of them, he just didn't _get_ it. 

But still, good for a laugh. 

He waited for Hungary to notice him, smiling more broadly at the suspicion and contempt he could see from across the yard. But Hungary never was one to walk away, it probably had something to do with defending his territory like a tomcat sprays all over his owner's house. 

"Afternoon," he said, loud enough to be heard at Hungary's distance, giving a cheerful wave. Hungary rolled his eyes, but approached, his travelling boots heavy on the ground. His practical dark clothing was a world away from the pale blue and pink Prussia had shamelessly dressed himself up in; it only fed into his desire to assert some kind of superiority, as ill-advised as that might be. "Nice weather we're havi- " 

"What are you doing here this time, eh?" 

Prussia affected an affronted frown. "This time? When's the last time I even saw your sorry mug around here, hah?! Shouldn't I be asking _you_ what you're doing here, _this time?_ You're not even part of this empire, last I checked, unless you got jealous and asked the Princess- " 

"Princess?" Hungary's double-take was enough to bring Prussia to a halt, where he would normally barrel on stubbornly. Instead, he grinned as Hungary worked it out. "You mean Ausztria. No, I'm still independent of your messy arrangement, thanks. What was it I was supposed to be jealous of?" 

"You tell me," Prussia replied, fancying he saw his smile reflected in Hungary's unnerved eyes. But he wouldn't elaborate further. "Anyway! You didn't answer." 

"Neither did you." Hungary narrowed his eyes; he was still a good half-foot taller, and unfortunately, he seemed likely to remain so. "But I can guess: you came to make trouble for Ausztria?" 

Prussia shrugged, amused, in a private, special way. "Maybe." 

If Hungary was surprised by his lack of denial, he didn't show it. "You're out of luck," he said, shifting his weight, his stance less threatening. "She's not here." 

"What- why?!" The outburst left him as quickly as his face changed with disappointment and, though he knew it not, incensed entitlement. Hungary rolled his eyes again. "Where is she? I need to see her today, I've got too much shit to do at home to hang around- " 

"What a pity," Hungary interrupted, and now he was smiling, the bastard. "She's out handling Itália. Send her a letter like every other little duchy around here has to, and hope you get a reply within the year, I guess. That's the trouble with this empire business, isn't it?" 

"Ah, fuck off." Prussia scuffed his expensive shoes along the ground, put directly out-of-sorts by the knowledge that his plan had been scuppered. It felt distinctly unfair, even as he realised he should have notified her ahead of time- but that would have ruined the _surprise._ It was a slightly bitter pill to take, accepting that she had responsibilities and commitments that came far ahead of even thinking about him, in any capacity. Personally was bad enough; politically...he didn't entirely care to be reminded of it. He was not yet conscious of it, but the resentment would linger, and given time, manifest in unpalatable ways. 

But for the time being, he could pull himself together and let it go- perhaps not with the ideal thought process of selflessness and understanding, but it was better than dwelling on something pointless. Besides, there was still something sweet about the situation to comfort him. 

Hungary seemed ready to go about his business, shaking his head, but Prussia perked up, cheerful again. "Never mind, then- absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say, it'll make for a better entrance later, right?" 

It worked, and Hungary paused. 

"At her party," Prussia went on, not giving him sufficient time to extract any double entendres from what he'd first said. Understanding dawned on Hungary's face, and he didn't look impressed. Prussia grinned, his finesse in these sorts of things somewhat lacking. 

"Oh, you were invited to that thing," Hungary said, his gaze enduring, his body language staunch- he rarely fidgeted the way Prussia did. "Hoping to make a scene, are you?" 

"Only with my outfit, Ungarn, don't fret." Prussia leaned against a nearby post, the better to show off today's shining suit. "You won't need to bounce me, I'll be on best behaviour, cross my heart! Anyway, I'm surprised you didn't know, Bran heard it off her the other week...not privy, hah?" 

A muscle twitched in Hungary's jaw, quite perceptibly, perhaps on purpose. "I don't need to know the ins and outs of her social gatherings. Like we keep going over...I'm not really into your mangrove of a family tree. I'm not even going." 

That did surprise Prussia, enough for him to drop his attitude for a moment. Only a moment. "What, didn't she invite you, Ungarn?! My God- is the sky falling?! You mean you've finally detached from her hip? Or is she bored of you? Wouldn't surprise me- " 

"I was invited," Hungary snapped, taking a menacing step towards Prussia that put an end to his theatrics in good time. "I have an engagement I can't get out of- something important, at my own house with my own Diet. You wouldn't really know about that kind of thing, I suppose- " 

"Fuck you, you backwater prick- " 

" -so you can behave as badly as you want at this ball, and I won't be there to bounce you, Poroszország," Hungary continued, advancing such that Prussia backed up against the post and sort of fell around it haplessly, "but I'll hear about it afterwards, make no mistake, and if I find out you've done anything untoward- " 

"Untoward?!" There was almost a laugh in Prussia's exclamation- he wasn't sure anymore what Hungary knew, or thought he knew, or expected, but it was highly entertaining either way. "Good God, I came here to say 'thanks for invitin' me!', promised to be a good boy, and this is what I get?! Jesus, she needs to keep you in a bigger kennel or something, you need more space to work out your anger before you see me!" 

Hungary responded with a curse in his own language of rather shocking specificity and severity, but other than that, he seemed to gather himself, and stood up straight. "I know what you're like. You want something and you'll give her hell to get it. I'm just making you aware of yourself and your situation." 

"Yeah, thanks, I appreciate your fuckin' honesty," Prussia grumbled, aggressively adjusting his collar. "You got no idea what I want. Don't go making me look bad, now." 

"You do that by yourself." 

"Tch, says you, when you don't even wanna see me from one year to the next, and don't tell me it's 'cause you're not under Holy Rome. You're just an unsociable ass these days." It was more than he'd really wanted to say, and to head off Hungary's response, Prussia waved a hand at him dismissively, turning to head back the way he'd come. He was feeling some mixed feelings, and it bothered him when all he'd wanted to do was make disrespectful innuendoes at a rival who apparently didn't even know he was one. "I'm going home. Tell the Princess I called for her, won't you? And that I'm ever so excited about her splendid party- " 

"Christ, go, if you're going!" Hungary barked, making a face at Prussia's simpering tone; it cheered him up, and he cackled as he jogged away. 

\- 

It takes a village, to organise a party. You might even say it takes an army. 

That was the state of Austria's household- a strictly regimented corps of etiquette-sticklers and aesthetes, tasting bonbons, adjusting flowers in vases and otherwise occupying themselves with trifling details. Austria had a habit of choosing staff with the same eccentricities she possessed, which made them debatably useful under ordinary circumstances, but very good at throwing a ball. 

"You are certain you cannot come?" she'd asked Hungary, when he'd dropped in and found her looking thoughtfully at a tower of crystal wine glasses. He had laughed, somewhat incredulously, at the grandeur of the ballroom, and apologised, but he was firm in his refusal; it wouldn't be right to rush away from important dealings with Ottoman just to come to a party. His practicality wounded her feelings, just a bit, but despite the disappointment she expressed, she was actually rather glad. He wasn't cut out for this sort of glamorous affair, and his discomfort would only bother her more- but more importantly, she had other guests on her mind. It wouldn't do to mix pleasure and...history. 

The night rolled around, and the need to prepare herself with it. It took almost as many people to dress her as it had to dress the ballroom, but she was used to the assembly line of servants- the timid younger maids putting her hair up oh-so-gently, lest she slap someone in reflex, and the older governesses giving her completely unsolicited advice while they tugged on her laces. It was as if the concept of her having lived longer than all their grandmothers put together would just not implant itself in their minds. Austria refused to encourage this rudeness by engaging in conversation. 

It wasn't as though she was planning anything that could be discussed openly among God-fearing women. And it wasn't as if Prussia deserved her undivided attention in the first place, she told herself, with an artificially-reddened pout into her mirror. He was still on probation. She didn't want to give him unwarranted ideas by dwelling on him too much before seeing him. It would show in her face. The disaffected stare she normally wore was good enough for the likes of him. 

She practiced it, as she admired herself; her maids probably thought her arrogant, so familiar with her own beauty that even the most jaw-dropping gown couldn't draw a girlish smile from her. She couldn't have cared less. But it _was_ a lovely dress, in many shades of white and cream, raised detailing giving it a luxurious texture, pearly beads and tiny diamonds flashing in the light. Rather dramatic, with her dark hair- she'd refused powder, with a somewhat rude comment to an elderly matron about not wanting to look grey before her time, thank you. 

She swept away to make her entrance on pale silver mules, the train of her skirts dragging behind her with grandeur and certainty; what might have looked pure and unstained on another looked almost imposing on her. 

\- 

The moment of trepidation before being formally announced to a crowd had long since faded, though a hint of it always seemed to remain, in the way Austria unfocused her gaze, ignoring individuals and allowing them to dissolve into one mass. She let the ceremonies go on, and then went about her business, knowing she would not be interrupted. Not that she didn't intend to be a good hostess- to those she had personally invited. Officially, this ball belonged to her "family", not to her; she had even been announced under their name. 

That was fine. She could mill among the guests- and among the buffet tables- a vague character, an unimportant princess. She still drew stares, but they would forget her soon enough, those nobles and dignitaries, at least until they needed to know her. Austria sought out her own guests, one by one; a cordial word to this Electorate, a compliment to that foreign ally. She encountered young Liechtenstein, and made a fuss of her dress, cautioning her about late nights and stopping short of warning her against exactly what she herself had in mind. 

But Prussia wasn't anywhere to be found. She wasn't surprised, she would have heard him arrive, but she was displeased. His absence was only serving to highlight the fact that, though she took some pleasure in throwing a ball, she never found the actual event quite as fun by itself. Dancing and drinking are not solitary pursuits, and the musicians could only entertain her for so long- her staring at them while they played seemed to throw them off. Amateurs. She caught a glimpse of a black tail in the sea of powdered wigs, and cornered Brandenburg in short order; she threw him off, too, scrutinising his fine blue coat instead of his face. 

Late, he said. Trouble deciding what to wear, he said. Austria supposed she believed him. It was better this way, logically, than to have Prussia make a _scene_ while being announced, but she was ever the type to stand on etiquette, and it irritated her all the same. She didn't want to accommodate his troublemaking; she'd prefer to punish him for committing it. 

It was while she was contemplating these punishments, idling alone to one side and growing bored with even her own sadistic indulgences, that Prussia finally made an entrance. Austria heard him before she saw him. 

"You're asking who I am? Tch, you're not gonna find my name on that list of y- nonono, wait- WAIT, I said- I was invited! _I was invited!_ " 

Austria spun around where she stood in the crowd, near the foot of the staircase used for introducing the high and mighty; her eyes scanned the mezzanine above. Sure enough, there her guest was, gesticulating animatedly at footmen and trying to explain that he was here in the capacity of _Graf von Beilschmidt_ or whatever he was going by these days- "But you should announce me as _Königreich Preu-_ AH!" 

Prussia looked down, and their eyes met. His lit up, but she rolled hers, and rather than try to put a stop the scene unfolding- for she felt it would resolve itself, somehow- she turned and slipped away through a commotion of curious dancers. It had the desired effect- behind her, she heard Prussia making excuses and evading the gatekeepers, flinging himself down the stairs to follow her. Trusting, no doubt, that Brandenburg would make haste to smooth things over for him. He really had no sense of responsibility. Not a shred of propriety or respect. Austria certainly wasn't smiling as she ducked under a curtain into a shadowed part of the hall, as inconspicuously as possible in her bright white dress. 

"Oi, you can't hide from me in that," Prussia called, not far behind; he sounded amused. He was no less conspicuous in shimmery dove-grey, though the great irony of his hair fitting in better than Austria's when it had given him so much grief in the past was not lost on her. She darted into an alcove, away from the stragglers also looking to escape prying eyes in those sheltered parts of the great ballroom- Austria sometimes wondered if it was built that way on purpose, with so many nooks and crannies, but it suited her intentions perfectly. Intentions to lure Prussia away from anyone he could possibly embarrass her in front of, of course. 

He caught up with her a moment later, his eyes sweeping the shadowed space as if checking it for traps, before they landed firmly on her, and he grinned. 

"I haven't forgiven you, you know," Austria said, before he could speak a word. 

" _Still?!_ " He made an exaggerated gesture of disbelief, eyes boggling, but he didn't seem that surprised, a wry smile flickering on his lips. "Christ on the cross, what's it gonna take? What about this, hmm?" 

Prussia stepped forward, and made a sweeping bow, landing smoothly on one knee to grasp her hand and kiss it; before Austria could react, he bounded to his feet again, taking her by the shoulders and catching her lips just as impulsively. She made a noise something like a gasp at his audacity, too much like a laugh for her liking, and smacked her hand against his chest in reproach. It didn't exactly _work;_ he kissed her again- a few times- getting her powder on his lips for good measure before he pulled back, pleased with himself. 

"Well?" he demanded, reaching for her hands, to play with them rather absently- as though touch was second nature to him. Austria smiled, then immediately stopped herself, turning her nose up at him. 

"Well, what? You don't think that did it, do you?" 

"What the hell's it gonna take, then, you spoiled little piglet?" 

" _Piglet,_ " she spluttered, filled with the urge to pinch him, but he was laughing (and holding her hands tight, more importantly). She scoffed at him. "Not speaking like that, for one! You ought to act the gentleman if you want forgiveness. Especially after causing such a disturbance at my party." 

"Disturbance? Pshh, no one noticed that," Prussia said, contemptuously. "Your guests are neck-deep in the champagne already- even your staff, if you ask me! But fine, I'll be a good boy, so forgive me, alright?" 

" _Hmmm._ " Austria gave him a shrewd look, tugging her hands free, though she didn't let go completely; she circled around him, and he lazily followed her, a knowing sort of slant to his smile. "We shall see how the rest of the night goes." 

He protested his good character all the way back to the dancefloor, and Austria couldn't help but think him rather spineless as he laughingly did whatever she wanted. But then, she had never considered spinelessness to be a negative trait in one's young man. Some of them really had too much spine. 

They danced; lively quadrilles and elegant minuets, all surpassed by the sly folk dances that slipped in, the ones clearly meant for two alone, and only permissible in public because the attendees had such unimpeachable reputations, of course. Or, in some cases, they had already ruined their own fledgling reputations, though Prussia seemed entirely unbothered by his situation. He had no qualms about discussing, in a stage whisper, the tragic state of an elder gentleman's wig, or the excess with which a woman had painted herself, or the ridiculous manner in which some people danced. At first Austria felt the urge to scold him for it, before realising she was no better of a person herself and had been making the same remarks in her head. It became rather an agreeable topic of conversation. 

Perhaps it ought to have concerned her, that she had such unsavoury things in common with that man, and Hungary's voice floated through just to tell her _it probably should,_ but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Not when he bounded around the hall with such... _joie de vivre,_ taking up all of her attention- deliberately, she too could see the gentlemen hoping for a dance in her periphery, but she wasn't interested. As soon as she voiced a desire to sit down and rest, Prussia whisked her away to chairs and champagne- not without whining about her laziness. He was far from perfect, but he kept her glass overflowing. 

"I don't suppose it's wise to lose my head tonight," Austria said, tilting the dainty crystal goblet this way and that; the pinkish liquid glimmered under the dazzling chandeliers. Truthfully, they were too bright, though perhaps the drink was causing that. Prussia tossed his own down his throat as though he didn't even taste it. 

"Why's that, Princess?" he asked, fishing another glass for himself from those laid out on the table. "Afraid you'll do somethin' to make a fool of yourself? I don't think you need much alcohol for tha- " 

"I thought you were going to speak politely to me?" 

"Maybe," he said, and sipped his drink delicately. Austria snorted. " _Anyway..._ " 

"Anyway...?" It was an interesting word; she eyed him over her glass. Under the bright lights, his cheeks looked pink and alive, his eyes disarming- there was a wickedness about them, despite the pale colour that should have seemed innocent. It didn't take a genius to understand his _anyway._

"Aren't you getting tired? It's too hot in here with this many people, it's starting to piss me off," he said, tugging a bit at his collar. He was slightly fidgety; Austria was so used to sitting still and suppressing discomfort for these occasions that she only belatedly realised she agreed with him- though, she suspected it wasn't quite heat or tiredness that made him uncomfortable. Despite his theatrics, he didn't seem to love crowds, or being in one room for too long. She supposed she understood that. "Shouldn't we take some air before you faint, Princess?" 

"Do I look faint?" she asked, and she studied herself in her glass as best she could. A bit red, perhaps, under the pale powder. Sweaty, God forbid. The man had a point. "Well, I wouldn't object. There are balconies." 

"Ballroom with balconies," Prussia said, shaking his head. He slurped up the contents of one more glass and picked up one for the road, offering her his hand; Austria graciously took it, and they skirted the other guests, making a beeline for what she knew to be the _best_ balcony. The least-used, most remote, undoubtedly more private one. She couldn't remember how to get to the front door, but she'd memorised that balcony. 

\- 

"Air, you said," she found herself gasping, pressed up against a pillar with her lip rouge smudged over her cheek. It made Prussia's mouth look devilish in the dark. "Perhaps you ought to let me breathe it- " 

"No fun," he said, going on and smearing it against her neck, her perfectly white neck. If it reached her perfectly white dress she would kill him. "S'not like we need it- " 

" _Well,_ if that is your argument- mm- mmh...you might as well say we don't need supper." 

"We don't," he declared, eyes twinkling in faint light, escaped from the glass doors- securely shut and covered almost completely with curtains. The party hummed behind them and voices floated from the gardens and other terraces, other lovers. Prussia's arms were about her waist, his weight upon her, but their lovely clothes were something of a barrier between them, so many layers. "Not in the long term, you know, it doesn't matter." 

"That is easy for you to say," Austria replied, and her hand slipped under his coat, to feel its way down the front of his waistcoat, all the fine embroidery obscuring the slender contours of his stomach. "I hear you are used to starvation. Some of us like to eat." 

"We all like to eat, Princess, but we can't always get what we want- when we're under siege, for example- " 

"You shut up about that- at my _party,_ of all places- " What an unpleasant topic. She too had starved from time to time, unnatural thinness in her legs- they were rather plump now, and still under some kind of siege, with Prussia's hands wiggling about in her petticoats. She gave up on his belly and slid her hands up to his head, her nails scratching his scalp to make him sort of _purr._ "It's an undignified way to die- " 

"What? Starving or holding your breath?" He grinned at her unimpressed look, and nipped her lower lip when he kissed her, champagne fizzing on her tongue again, though her glass was tipped over on the floor. "Listen, some things are worth dyin' for now and again." 

" _Easy_ for you to say," Austria breathed, but it became a sound she had to bite down on; his fingers were on her inner thighs, somehow, his teeth catching her earlobe. Her fingers clutched in his hair. Was this why she invited him? Most likely. "We shouldn't- we shouldn't- " 

"Hm?" 

"Take death so lightly," she finished, a bit frantic, because he'd paused. His hands moved again in good time, nails ticklish against her bare hips, but he was quiet for a moment. As if he was listening for something. Austria could only hear her own heartbeat, her own laboured breathing, perhaps that was it. 

"I don't, y'know," Prussia said, finally, and Austria found herself stilling, compelled by the tone of his voice- wondering if he might have more to say on the matter. It wasn't something they _discussed._ It wasn't exactly important. Personal, she supposed, but irrelevant. He could die however he saw fit, just as she did (or, tried not to). They didn't need to live to survive. 

"I hate dying," he went on, strangely candid, but he brushed it off again, darting in to take a bite out of her neck with a laugh. "What a depressing fuckin' topic, Österreich, what are you tryin' to do to me? Is your lipstick poisoned?" 

"Oh. I didn't think of that." 

She might have finally forgiven his transgressions- which she was struggling to recall- if she'd had the pleasure of kissing him to death, but no matter. He seemed intent on pleasing her one way or another, his hands on her thighs and a cold wall at her back while he took her breath away again. 

"Oi," he said, when he found the time, "speaking of supper- " 

"Yes?" 

"I only got a look last time..." 

"You are..." He lifted her skirts, pulling gently at layers of silk to navigate his way through; his face was rather red, his breathing laboured, but there was an excitement in his eyes that aroused Austria's interest, to say the least. "You are mixing your innuendoes- " 

If anything, he seemed glad she was on the same page, laughing quietly as he got to his knees. His stockings would pay for it but she didn't bother to point it out, catching the many folds and froths of her dress as Prussia fluffed it up out of his way. How embarrassing to feel the cool air against her legs, her stockings with their elegant ribbons ending around her knees, her toes primly pointed in their mules- before he pushed them apart. 

"...Don't _stare,_ " she managed, although she was almost amused at the highly intrigued look on his face. It was impossible to know what he thought or whether it was at all new to him, not with that enigmatic smile he flashed her, and the confidence he summoned from thin air, whatever he was doing. She ruffled his hair, with emphasis on _rough._

"Right, right," he replied, softly. His lips were still stained with her rouge, but he pressed them to her thigh, his warm breath a shock against that cold flesh. His eyes flickered up and down, as occupied with her face- her reactions- as with what he was doing, and she nudged him with her knee. _Get on with it._ A bit shocking, that thought, coming from her; but then, she was no longer inexperienced. Not even with Prussia's unfortunate sex. She had been ready for him for some time, she realised. _Whatever_ the reason for that questionable state of affairs. 

He pulled her from her reverie with his tongue, which wasn't bad. It wasn't bad at all. Despite the cold, and the contrast of his warm hands in places they had never been before, and the general _awkwardness._ Austria found herself looking around, down into the dark gardens and up at the distant, frosty stars in the depths of the sky, her teeth worrying her lip- then something fell into place. Something throbbed under Prussia's eager mouth, and her posture slipped, and a long, low breath left her lungs, her body empty and malleable against the wall. Her fingers scraped through his hair- his head was so warm- and he pressed himself deeper between her legs, kindly holding them up for her. 

"O- _Oh._ " 

Her exclamation drew his eye, and she scowled at how pleased with himself he looked- even with half his face buried down there- but she had to give him some credit. She narrowly avoided hitting her head against the wall as she let it fall back, her hips responding readily where her words would not, and she felt Prussia heft one leg over his shoulder- _outrageous-_ but she was losing track of where his lips and tongue ended and where her pleasure began, a squirming feeling suffusing her from that point up, until it peaked in a smile. But it didn't _peak-_ not just yet- and while she was waiting, some clamour behind her caught her attention, scattered as it was. 

"What..." 

"Hmmphh?" 

"Aa- _aah!_ D-Don't do th- ah- wh-what is that commotion?" Her conversation partner was not forthcoming, so she strained her ears and answered her own question. "A late announcement...very late- who on earth w-would- " 

A chill shot down her throat to settle in her stomach as surely as if she'd been eating sorbet too fast. The faint pseudonym she heard belonged to one individual who had not only refused her invitation, but who would utterly upset her plans for the rest of the night if she saw him. The voice of her conscience in human form! What sort of devilry was this? The chill was replaced by a flare of anger, hot and swirling- or perhaps that was something Prussia was doing- she squirmed halfway up the wall behind her trying to differentiate, and he finally pulled back with the gasp of a drowning man. 

"The fuck's going on?" 

Austria didn't know if he was asking about her reaction or the party, and she shook her head, her hair starting to feel a bit mussed and her fingers grasping her skirts tight enough to hurt. She was loath to let them fall, but she had to, Prussia raising an eyebrow in surprise. 

"Ungarn," she hissed, sounding almost _plaintive_ to her own ears, like she wanted to be forgiven, or whisked out of this situation, _rescued._ That would do- abscond to her bedchamber and ignore all her guests. That was the mature solution to the problem. Prussia, thank God, was quick to catch on. He got to his feet, thoughtlessly wiping his wet lips with his sleeve- it took the remains of her lip rouge with it- and bending his knees a bit, like they'd locked up. 

"We could jump over here," he said, as if that was something normal people did, leaning over the balcony rail to look down several floors to the ground. Austria bristled, rolling her eyes; her face felt hot, her thighs damp. She fussed with her dress until it felt like it might look respectable enough for around ten o'clock, and rubbed at her face for any traces of red. 

"Don't be a fool all your life. We shall slip back in the room and make for the serving entrance on the right. Then we can make our way up the back stairs and come to my apartment through the hall on the fifth floor." 

There was a pause. Prussia squinted close to her face in the darkness. 

"On the _right?_ " 

"Yes?" 

"And you know the way up to the fifth floor, hah?" 

"It is not the labyrinth of Minos," Austria snapped. But she relented, eager to leave. " _You_ know the way, I am certain." 

"Ah, you're makin' me sound like a burglar," Prussia protested, but he was smiling again, and he slipped over to the glass doors, peering through the gap in the curtain on the other side. He opened the latch carefully, scouting out the situation; Austria held her breath. 

"What is happening?" 

"Nothin'...nobody around this end but a couple of canoodlers and a guy facedown in a champagne bucket- ah- shit, is that Bayern?" 

"In- in the bucket?!" 

"Wouldn't be the first time- oi, let's move while the coast's clear, Princess," he said, and he took her hand, pulling her through the door after him in a flurry of burgundy velvet curtains and white silk skirts. She had no time to argue, and barely a second to glance behind herself at the crowd milling around the other end of the great hall- was that Hungary? In the smart black suit, with the long, dashing ponytail? Perhaps it was some other handsome farmhand, sliding into high society as easily as Austria seemed to be sliding out of it. 

\- 

Austria fell against her bedroom door in relief- just as she had done with the door to her apartments, though she'd swiftly turned the key in that one. They'd passed a servant or two on the way up, but no one who'd say a word about her choices or her whereabouts. 

"Christ, Princess, I know this palace better than you do," Prussia was saying, meandering around her bedroom and tossing jacket and waistcoat aside as if it was his own. Still, he seemed to have a curious reverance for the room. He stared around at her dressing table and mirrors, all the glass bottles and pretty little boxes that littered her surfaces. She had to admit to clutter, though she would protest that all her trinkets were tidily stored away. There was just so _much_ storage that it became a mess in itself. The clothing scattered about, she had less to say on that score, and so did he if he knew what was good for him. She eyed him as he picked up a dropped chemise, but he wisely put it down again. 

"So..." he said, slowly pivoting to face her again, his eyes roving the walls, the ceiling, every bit of décor- like he was committing it to memory. Like she might throw him out again in a minute, perhaps. The thought amused Austria, and she gave him a smile that to him was surely an enigma, before she sat down in a soufflé of skirts at her dressing table. The mirror showed her to be red-cheeked even under the makeup, her hairdo a little more flyaway than she remembered; she picked up a fan, cooling her neck and chest with it. 

"So what, my dear Preußen?" 

"Tch." In the mirror, Austria could see him folding his arms behind her, his stance saying everything his unseen face could hope to. The champagne fizz lingered behind her eyes and made her want to tease him- only fair, she thought, after what he'd done to her on the balcony. They said being denied made it better in the end. 

Prussia stepped closer, and his face came into view as he bent over the back of her chair; he draped his arms over her shoulders quite without reservations to make a grab for her wrist, redirecting her fan. "Ahh, if you're hot, you should take your clothes off." 

"Oh?" Austria raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror; as he tugged her wrist towards him, she let her fan fall with a soft clatter to the table, and he rewarded her with a kiss to her pulse point, his eyes flashing rather too knowingly for someone whose ban on entering her bedroom had only just been lifted. "You do realise I need assistance to do that." 

"Is that so? You'll have to show me how, then," he replied, burying his grin in the space behind her ear, the juncture of her neck and shoulder, where her bodice left her just a little more bare than she needed to be. Where she thought his kisses might give her chills, they instead sent a warm flush through her skin, an easy, relaxing sensation that did, indeed, call for the removal of certain articles. Prussia was ready to attempt just that, it seemed, his hands creeping down her bodice, then up her back, searching for buttons or laces. 

"There," she said, feeling for a fumbling hand, and pressing his fingers to the fastenings; dress first, and the stomacher, then she could get her skirts off herself, and he could loosen her stays, but the less he did, the better. They had the leisure and the luxury to spend hours undressing, but she did not have the patience. He was working her bodice loose, at least, and she stood up to better facilitate that, wriggling out of her sleeves and letting it all drop to the ground like a discarded coat. When she turned to him, Prussia gave her chest an appreciative look, his fingers plucking idly at the laces that gave it such impressive stature. Of course this meant he had his arms around her, and she took advantage, putting her face close to his. 

"Untie the knot," she ordered, and she felt his breath on her lips and his eyes staring through hers as he tried to comply. His hands clutched at the strings, and at her waist, fumbling with her just as his mouth was, breaths of laughter passing between their tongues. Austria blindly searched herself for the ties of her petticoats, and by the time Prussia had loosened the knot of her stays, she had pushed him towards her bed, all the gauzy remnants of her outfit trailing off her body behind her like a great tail. 

"Ah." Prussia's voice was uncharacteristically soft as he fell on the bed; she had never heard him make such a subdued and thoughtful murmur, a _lilt_ to it, like he was appreciative. And he was, she felt, quite confidently, as she straddled his lap. Her weight brought a smile to his mouth and a pleasant pink to his cheeks, and he exhaled slowly. Austria felt his hands on her hips- squeezing where they were soft and thick, right where her skin creased and her thighs began- and smiled herself, a loose tendril of her hair swaying in her peripheral vision. 

"Is that all you have to say, Königreich?" she asked, affecting the haughty amusement of a courtesan while she pulled off her stays- perhaps it didn't suit her, perhaps it did; Prussia seemed to like it, either way. Or perhaps he liked being addressed by his title, and that would have to be nipped in the bud. "How...uncharacteristic." 

"Heh, did you want me to talk all the way through? Sing your praises, right? Ahh, they say in this part of the world, there's a beauty who can't be matched from Munich to Moscow," he began, helping her lift her stays all the way off, and shoving at the heavy underskirts to rid her of them- she felt the air on her thighs, between her stockings and her chemise, and shivered despite her warmth. "They say her hair gleams like the blackbird, her lips are rosehips wet with dew, and her- ah- her breasts are- " 

"Oh, _stop,_ " Austria protested, breathless as his fingers traced his words across her face, down her body. The richer you are, the finer your silks, the more you can see through them- the more you can _feel_ through them. It didn't quite seem fair, and she grasped the front of Prussia's shirt, fumbling the ties undone. 

"Whaaaat? Why stop?" He snickered at her, but he gently removed her hands, tugging his shirt over his head obediently, his muscles stretching and straining interestingly with the motion. Interestingly. Where had she thought that before? A better vocabulary may have been necessary. _Attractively._ Erotically. She licked her lips, and Prussia went on, leaning back on his hands- to let her look at him, she thought, while he looked at _her,_ eyes obviously on her breasts, the the pale pink points hiding in folds of fine fabric. "They say her breasts are like...blancmanges...you just want to eat the- " 

" _Please._ " 

"Please eat them?" 

"Please, shut up." 

She let him devour her with his hands, firm and hot up her belly, squeezing at her breasts before roaming down her back and under the hem of her chemise. His mouth was at her throat, and all her chills vanished as she pressed tight against him, her elegant fingers luxuriating in his hair- soft and fluffy and obviously cared-for, by a man who used to wash his hair in blood and river-water. It was an odd, inappropriate thought and it made her laugh, her voice leaving her in breaths and gasps, and to her surprise, Prussia's followed suit. As if she hadn't expected him to feel as she did, at any given moment; as if she was still expecting some barrier between them, some lack of understanding that kept her curious, but curbed any closeness. There was closeness now, with his erection pressing into her thighs and his fingers slipping in and out of her, searchingly; she pulled back to look into his eyes, pale red and shining with urgency, and she kissed him, pulling at him until he tipped her back on the bed. 

Austria lay back, her still-coiffed head propped up by overstuffed pillows, and watched Prussia as he wriggled out of his breeches; he grinned at her, but he was pink-cheeked and breathing heavily, and she felt she could almost see the aura of excitement he emitted. She thought it proper to take a good look at what he was revealing, given that he had enjoyed an entirely one-sided view of her already. He was strangely _handsome,_ even _there._ Delicate in one way, with his white skin flushed red, but still somehow energetic and masculine, with his cock jutting between his carelessly-splayed and muscular legs. Austria hadn't realised she had neatly folded her hands across her belly, as though she was eagerly awaiting a pleasant meal, until Prussia crawled over her and disturbed them by pushing her chemise up around her waist. 

"Ready?" he asked, singsong. His confidence was mysterious- learned or faked or sincere, she couldn't tell, but she trusted it, shifting with him until he settled between her legs. She was half-amused still, like she was humouring his playful whim, but when he pressed her thighs apart and ran his hands up her back, his weight warm above her and his eyes piercing, she let out the breath she'd been holding in a sigh. 

"...When you are," she said, tilting her head back to look down her nose just a _little,_ to keep him on his toes. Austria could have sworn she saw a flicker of doubt freeze his features for a moment, his tongue swiping his lips, but before she could mock him, Prussia was fumbling between her legs, pressing inside smoothly. And _quickly;_ she let out a noise of surprise, her legs tensing where Prussia awkwardly held them up. He seemed as surprised as she was, paused on top of her, and when their eyes met, he laughed, a low, natural sound. She smiled in return, up at her bed hangings, until he attacked her face with ticklish pecks. They squirmed together, both playing around and trying to get comfortable, and in the midst of this Prussia gave a thrust; Austria answered with a heavy breath, her legs catching around his waist, and suddenly they were making love. 

He surprised her with his- not _skill,_ but something like intensity, instinct, that made him know where to grab and hold her, how to keep her nerves alight with his mouth at her sensitive neck. In wild imaginings, Austria thought he must have had a more illustrious career as a rake than he had let on- or else there was not much difference between herself and a stable boy after all- it was hard to picture, Prussia making love to anyone else. Not like this, not wrapped together in bed, all perfume and soft sounds. She had first experienced a man in a pile of hay- and that was all very nice- but this was where she belonged, and in the moment, oddly, she felt it was where Prussia belonged, too. 

He was kissing her, slowly, his tongue deep in her mouth (someone else kissed that way) and his hips rocking hard between hers, like he was unwilling to pull back. One hand up her chemise to stroke and play with the soft flesh of her breast, a thumb at her nipple to send a small twinge of pleasure through the fog of it consuming her body. She grabbed his hair, then ran her hands down his back, feeling every slash and scrape he wore, now only white lines with a strange texture; beneath them his muscles were hard and warm, provoking an intense desire to grab at them, and so she did. It spurred him on, her hands reaching his backside and her nails enjoying his skin like a cat's claws enjoy a pillow, and he gasped and grunted in her ear, moving more desperately in her. He needed leverage, and he got it by grabbing her legs, shoving them roughly upwards until she was tangled with him in an obscene way, completely open to his suddenly merciless thrusting. Austria cried out her pleasure, her limbs unsure what to do with themselves- tensing and untensing legs, a hand haphazardly reaching for her clitoris before giving up in the commotion, fisting in Prussia's hair instead. She was being brutal with him, she knew, and his only response was to fuck her with more fervour than before, moaning outright against her neck, grabbing her hips to pull her down fiercely on his cock. An eye for an eye, she thought, and she needed it, begging for him to finish her off, to take her as roughly as he pleased and leave her sore if that was what it took, as long as he kept it up until that wave broke the shore. 

It did, with less fanfare and more convulsing than poetry would dictate, but it left Austria panting and exhausted, though that pleasant feeling spread throughout and made her seem to float. It struck her as funny, that that sensation could be so strong that it wrapped around to being tiring, even a sort of pain; she wondered idly if it was the same for men. Prussia was certainly working himself like a carthorse- no- like something not a horse, rather, but before she could settle on a description, he'd finished, in a gasp and a heap of limbs. For their first time, it was probably a bit strenuous. 

But then, she somehow couldn't imagine it being any other way. 

Austria's legs felt like lead when she lowered them, inching her way into something that resembled a comfortable resting position under Prussia. He was breathing deeply, eyes closed; she gazed at him through sleepily-lowered lids. It was in this moment, in her opinion, that a man proved some degree of his worth. The moment immediately after satisfaction, after he'd gotten what he wanted from her; it could make or break a woman's enjoyment. She was thinking like a seasoned man-eater, when she really hadn't had enough experiences to comment, but then perhaps that was why she was sensitive about it. She knew what it looked like, her style of reaching an accord with her fellow nations, though commentators generally _exaggerated_ her methods. She was not anything like as _approachable_ as some would tell it, but her charms sometimes worked. And it was shallow, and it made people think they could behave in an...unsatisfactory manner. 

Not Prussia, she thought, though unsatisfactory manners seemed to be the code he lived by. He gave a low groan, and writhed on top of her, until he unsheathed himself (that was slightly...wet), but he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his face into her cheek, giving her a kiss that felt like a smile (and that was also...slightly wet). Austria supposed he passed. 

She rolled towards him slightly, but to her surprise he suddenly hefted himself up on his forearms, staring at her. He was still pink in the face, and bright-eyed, more energetic than she'd thought. He seemed to study her face, and her body briefly; she wondered how she looked. 

"...What?" 

"Ah- you came, right?" 

His question- so earnest, so blunt and so naïve- startled her, and she felt herself blush despite the senselessness of it, what with her position. "I- I did...!" 

Prussia looked rather boyishly pleased, and Austria wondered if she hadn't created a monster already. He pulled himself back to his knees, between her spread legs, and gently ran his fingertips down her belly and her thighs- before reddening slightly, and pulling her chemise down for her. Awfully polite. There was a strange sense of embarrassment between them, she could tell, but it wasn't a bad thing. 

He flopped on his back next to her, completely nude and apparently unconcerned about _his_ body being on display, even now that he was unflatteringly spent. "Can I...do it again?" 

"I- beg your pardon?" Austria had been about to pull her stockings off, her body stiff, and she paused, blinking at him. 

"Make you- " He broke off with an illustrative gesture. She almost snorted, shaking her head and rolling the delicate stockings down her legs. 

"Give me _time,_ " she said, her superior, mocking tone returning. Prussia didn't seem bothered at all, on his side watching her, though she couldn't tell what he was thinking, exactly. "...Did you enjoy it that much?" 

"Yeah," he answered, instantly, then he checked himself. "I did, but- ah- y'know, I thought it'd be funny to get a good look at your face next time." 

" _Next time._ " Austria pursed her lips at him, but she tucked an errant ringlet behind her ear almost coquettishly. It wasn't worth having some drawn-out conversation about their lovemaking- past or future- or their _feelings,_ she decided; it wasn't _them._ This coy humour was comforting. Nothing had changed. "Close the curtains. I like absolute darkness when I sleep." 

"Tch, done for the night already?" Prussia teased, but he looked tired himself, she realised, more sluggish now as he obeyed her. All that champagne, perhaps. But she didn't know what he'd done with his day, before coming to her party; given what she knew of his habits, he may well have risen with the dawn and trained for hours. It sounded revolting. She intended to keep him in bed until a reasonable hour, one way or another. 

With the bed curtains closed, a velvet darkness enshrouded them, and the blankets became an appealing prospect. All the more when Prussia dove under them and tugged on Austria's wrist, and she followed him gladly, feeling her way into his arms in the dark and warding off the chill of unwarmed blankets with his body heat. He was obliging; he had always been cuddly. He held her, not to comfort her, but as if she was a comfort to him- with his entire body, legs and arms surrounding her. This was the closest she had ever been to him, and she touched his bare skin thoughtfully. 

"Are you very tired?" she asked, quietly; she had almost expected him to keep talking, to keep the party going. It was a very curious thing, learning someone's night habits. Prussia rubbed his face against hers, shifting comfortably. 

"Fuckin' beat, Princess- you really gotta ask? After that? C'mon, go to sleep, night owl. Keep me company." 

"Hmph! And here I thought you had stamina." But she had no complaint; she did keep late hours, but it wasn't hard to slip slowly towards her dreams, enclosed in that warm, dark space with him. Wondering as she did, about how he felt, and how he would behave in the morning, and what his routines _really_ were, when he wasn't making an effort to bother her. Maybe they should have spoken more after all, about all those things. There was something so casual about their tryst, it was hard to believe; as though she would wake up to only the memory of a dream. Did people just go to sleep after crossing this threshold, and not worry about it? Her hands clutched Prussia's shoulders, to ascertain that he was real, and she felt an urge to speak, to keep talking to him and achieve some kind of understanding in words instead of just physicality and chemistry. But tiredness took her, and left all her wonderings unspoken, and in the end, she wasn't sure that any of them mattered. 

\- 

Prussia opened his eyes, and tried to open them again when no light seemed forthcoming. The curtains were closed around Austria's bed. Austria's bed. He hadn't forgotten in his sleep, but it still took a moment of trying to move, and finding he had a woman wrapped around him, to convince himself that he'd been successful. Was that the right way to think of it? Probably not in Austria's opinion; perhaps _she'd_ been successful, if her grip on him was anything to go by. He didn't mind, she was warm, her bare skin silky to the touch- she'd writhed and fought off her chemise at some point in the night. Prussia had the feeling she would have made a catastrophic mess of the blankets too, if he hadn't held her. He could feel her leg hooked over his hip, her arms around his neck and her soothing, steady breath somewhere around his jaw. In the dark, she was nothing but a collection of faint shapes, but as he stared at her through tired eyes, she seemed to him unreal, lovely beyond measure. Perhaps he'd given her a good showing the previous night, but he had nothing to measure the experience by- not the sex, so much as waking up beside her. 

He felt it must have been early, for he felt close to sleep still, cosy and loath to move, and Austria was dead to the world. There was probably no rush to drag himself away, though he planned to leave before the household was too wakeful. He had no idea if Brandenburg had spent the night- or any other interfering relations, for that matter- or, he remembered with a thrill of both uneasiness and petty amusement, Hungary. Prussia had no particular sense of embarrassment (so he claimed), but he had a sense of self-preservation (sometimes). It was difficult, but he stretched himself away from Austria slightly to reach the bed curtains and twitch them aside; outside, the rest of her bedroom was still pitch-dark. He couldn't remember if the windows had been shuttered. She did say something about complete darkness. 

Without a light, and without a clock to be seen, Prussia was clueless, though some internal sense of time told him he should at least get up and check; he generally wasn't even able to sleep in, not after waking before the sun for so many endless days and years. Sometimes he resented it, that he slept like a stray animal, always ready to jump. Especially lying next to a certified hibernating creature. He was trying to gently disentangle himself from her, when she stirred, her body mindlessly following his and latching on again. She mumbled something he couldn't identify, but sounded vaguely like a protest. 

"Hm? Princess?" 

"...Early..." That was all Austria could get out, apparently. Early didn't mean anything coming from her, but Prussia was tempted to believe her, just for another hour or so, perhaps. The room lacked not only light, but sound; there was nothing floating in from the rest of the palace, not a bird nor a breakfast-laden servant. True, Austria's rooms were nested upon each other and hidden away from disturbances, but Prussia was certain he'd hear something soon enough, and then it would be time to make an escape. 

Not to abandon her, though. He had no intention of that, it was only for the sake of not getting in trouble that he wanted to flee. He'd wake her- hopefully- and bid her goodbye first, and come to see her again later. He wanted to speak with her. He wanted to watch her expressions, and discover what she thought- of him, after all this. It might have been attraction and affection, or it might have been a need to have his ego fed, to know that he had some effect on her, that he was _getting somewhere_ in this mad bid for her attention. Prussia really wasn't the person to ask about his own motivations. But he wanted to be around her. He wanted to sleep with her again, obviously. It had been...the same, and not the same, as his prior trysts. Not so difficult as he had feared, in weaker moments, and not so stunningly new and overwhelming that he lost his sense. But it was still almost startling to take such a creature to bed and have it work out, if he was being frank with himself. She'd enjoyed herself and that was a miracle, he'd expected an uphill battle for that, with her coldly looking on the whole time and judging his efforts. But she had lost herself with him, naturally, and moved with him and smiled at him and laughed and gasped and all the rest- more emotion in moments than he had seen her dole out in a week- and she had almost ripped his hair out, too, and left warm, tingling lines down his back. He knew she had a violent streak. 

It had been so easy, somehow, that he was afraid next time would be a disaster- at least, until fond memories and egregious overconfidence took over, and he found himself lazily imagining all the wonderful ways they could do it, and how good it would be and how uncharacteristically grateful and gushing Austria would suddenly become, lovely Austria, so pretty and easy to project on while she was sleeping. So warm, and so soothing to stroke and cuddle, that Prussia soon lost track of himself, and time, and more or less everything, and fell asleep again. 

\- 

He woke for the second time feeling significantly more like a lump of lead. The light had hardly changed, and it was disorienting, his head functioning like a clockwork mechanism completely full of dust and oil. Austria was still present and accounted for, though she'd turned around, and he was flattened up against her bare back, his hands full of her front. That was a nice distraction for a minute or two, along with the scent of her hair in his face, but by now it really had to be late in the morning- for him, that meant six or seven. It was probably an intense sort of wishful thinking that made him come to that conclusion, because reality was knocking from some suppressed part of his brain and announcing a much later time. 

This time he forced himself up, crawling over Austria's body to wrest open her side of the curtains- surely she had to keep a clock somewhere in reach. He hadn't really noticed when he'd looked around her room the previous evening. It had all been a bit of a blur, arousal keeping him in a fog of general decadence and femininity- jewels, perfume, bits of lace, an overwhelming mess with a strange tastefulness to it. The details had really eluded him. 

He accidentally leaned on Austria as he fumbled for her bedside table, and she reacted by flailing an arm at him, her hand slapping against his face like a fish before it slithered down his chest. Entirely unintentionally, he presumed, but it gave him a jolt all the same. Morning was an interesting time for a young man, even (or especially) one who had spent his early adolescence living a wretched ascetic lifestyle. There was nothing like masturbating to the fervent fear of getting caught by monks, or maybe hit directly with a lightning bolt. But the thought of giving the middle finger to that scenario by making love to a beautiful aristocrat before getting up for the day was really quite something. 

"Time..." Austria's mumbling surprised Prussia, and he peered down at her face, making out her features in the gloom. She looked less than pleased. 

"Yeah, Princess, I'm looking for a damn timepiece," he whispered to her, touching her ear experimentally; she wriggled and flailed at him like a sleeping cat would. "C'mon, I gotta get up before anyone comes lookin' for me in here, you want a dozen gendarmes to see your tits? Again." 

She made an annoyed, whining sound, rolling over, but her arm pointed to her side table. "There." 

Prussia clambered over her to push the curtain aside further, and sure enough there was a decorative little mantel clock amidst the books and dropped bits of jewellery. He grabbed it, shoving it close to his face to squint and make out the time. Only about eight- that wasn't so bad, though the servants would surely be awake and working, most of the family and guests would be too hungover to take notice of him making his escape. "All right- Princess, I'd better get dressed, it's already after eight, but listen, how 'bout you come out for a ride with me tomo- " 

"Eight...?" Austria rolled around a little more, and Prussia rolled his eyes. 

"Yeah...time for you to get up, too, I'd wager, you little squirrel- where's my shirt- " 

"Oh...no." 

"No? You're not getting up? Don't surprise me at all, Princess." 

"No...that clock is wrong." 

"...What?" 

\- 

"I don't see how it matters," she was saying, from her bedroom. Primping and scrubbing and doing whatever women like her did when they crawled out of bed. Prussia sat on a couch in the outer room, without his shirt, and with a face down to his ankles. And a mouth full of bread, admittedly. At least someone had brought breakfast- or lunch, he supposed he should call it now. He'd hidden out of sight while the maid brought in the trays, but he was convinced it was obvious that Austria had a man in her rooms. Maybe this maid was used to ignoring that. 

He joked about the likelihood of that to himself without even thinking about it, then wondered suddenly if it was true. He really hadn't a clue whether she had young courtiers throwing themselves at her every weekend or if she'd known nothing more than a loving lesbian embrace (practically chaste, in his eyes). But after the previous evening he strongly suspected some gentleman other than himself had had the pleasure. He strongly suspected he knew who, too, but he preferred not to voice it aloud, lest that individual be summoned like an avenging demon. It was nicer to think of her as a Mysteriously Sensual (but not too intimidatingly experienced) Young Lady. 

He swallowed a great mouthful of buttered bread, washed it down with half a cup of coffee in one swig, and called back to her. "It matters 'cause your entire fuckin' overstuffed inbred colony is awake now and I can't get outta here without being seen. You think they're gonna take kindly to finding me wandering outta your bedroom looking haggard like this, like I've just deflowered their precious princess?" 

There came a loud snort, and an actual laugh. "Deflowered." 

"Tch- like she's deflowered me, then," Prussia grumbled, helping himself to far too much of some completely unnecessary cake Austria had among her breakfast foods, just to spite her. He could hear her approaching, and looked around- and nearly spat it out again. "J-Jesus- " 

"What is the matter with you?" Her voice was completely ordinary- haughty, judgemental and ringing with an upper-class laziness, but her appearance was something else entirely. She'd let her hair down at long last, and it fell and trailed in fluffy loose curls, her skin looking natural and flushed without her makeup. She had slathered something on her lips again, though, pink and glossy. None of that really mattered compared to her _body,_ which Prussia could see far too much of. She wore a long, richly coloured robe- it was spangled blue and green and gold, it made her look like a dragonfly- but she hadn't bothered to close it properly, and there was nothing underneath. Prussia choked down his cake. 

"W-What's the matter with me?! What's the matter with you?! This is breakfast!" He gestured wildly at her, his face heated, and Austria raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. He nearly jumped out of his seat as she approached, her robe dragging with a stately air, her nipples pink and prominent and even a little shiny, like she'd _done_ something to them. Prussia wasn't sure if it was strictly morning anymore, but he was still having problems. 

"Oh, shut up," Austria said, folding herself up on the couch beside him, and reaching for a cup; she drained most of the sweet-smelling chocolate in it before she spoke again. "I am covered in certain unguents, I do not wish to make my clothing sticky. Besides there is no need to rush out. I really do not know why you are so anxious." 

"Unguents?" Prussia looked her over with sudden interest, but he shook himself from it. "I told you, Princess, I'm gonna get my ass kicked all over your fucking house if my brother sees me stumbling out of here- I'll have to go out the window- " 

"What, and run directly into everyone out for a walk? The sun is out, you know. I hear there is a picnic or some such planned for the Emperor's guests. Of course, I have no interest today," Austria said, into her cup. "I am perfectly content to stay in." 

"Christ- I know _you_ are, but I've gotta..." It took him a moment, but he trailed off. She was busying herself rather innocently with picking at her food, but she was so- _naked_ and so coy, and somehow sort of glowing- was he glowing? There seemed to be something going on that his mind, suffering from too much sleep and too much drink, was struggling to catch up to, and- "You...tch, you haven't had enough, have you?" 

"I don't know what you mean," she said, crossing her legs, her robe opening at the waist where she'd barely tied it shut. She put a piece of bread in her mouth, licking jam from her lips, and gave Prussia a significant look; he spent a long while contemplating the entire scene before he got a grip on himself. 

"...I guess I'd better wait for the cover of darkness to make my exit- " 

"Hmm." 

"I'll need feeding, you know- three square meals and some good beer." 

"Not too much beer." 

"And- uh..." Prussia hesitated, watching Austria and her breasts as she set her breakfast down. "Ungarn isn't expecting you, is he?" 

"What? I shouldn't think so. He never said anything. He said he wasn't coming at all." Austria looked a bit offended, suddenly, her eyes glazing over. "If he is expecting me, he can just forget about it." 

That was cheering to Prussia, and he perked up considerably, sipping his coffee- only to hastily drain it, as Austria shifted towards him, fixing him with a warm blue stare. Her hands, so long and elegant, fussed with the ties of her robe, before she dropped all coy pretense, and her robe with it. He hadn't entirely expected this sort of conduct; he'd almost imagined her demure and prettily embarrassed in the morning, hiding under her bedsheets and sending him away until it was dark again, and such things could be conducted with propriety, rather than in broad daylight at the breakfast table. 

This was better, he decided, as she climbed in his lap, anything but demure, with her bright gaze and her tempting lips, and her legs all soft with mysterious oils. Aristocrats do whatever they want, and damn the consequences; that was an important thing Prussia had learned, and he intended to make the most of it. 

\- 

It was some time after Austria's party that Hungary managed to catch her. God knew what she had been doing in the meantime, he didn't like to ask- it was hardly his business, and he had to remind himself of that often. Not only for her sake, because it was wrong to interfere in her affairs, but for his own. If he meant to conduct himself with dignity and independence, then he shouldn't be so interested in what she was doing. Least of all in her personal life. 

But he'd managed to hear from someone that Austria had been seen dancing and drinking with a young man with light hair, and that she had lately spent much time at home, with the occasional private excursion. Doubtless she'd found someone to entertain her. He felt a little bitter about it, though he had no right to. It wasn't her fault, it was the circumstance; it would have been nice to cavort freely with her whenever he pleased, but that wasn't possible. It seemed possible for _her,_ though, somehow, to carry on like that, just with a replacement. He didn't blame her. He was just making note of it. 

As to the identity of the young man, well, they all seemed to have light hair in these parts, full of expensive powder and pomade. Hungary had never thought Austria the type to settle for a human- perhaps some Electorate. He really couldn't keep track of them. Perhaps she enjoyed someone who spoke the same language she did, and liked the same sort of foods, and shared her well-heeled tastes. Perhaps she even had some scheme in mind. There might be wedding bells again soon enough, for all Hungary knew, and that was as it should be- he wasn't part of that Empire, that section of her life. But he was still part of her household- an important part- and he still had business with her. 

Good news for her, in fact. He'd shown up at her ball after all, not because he relished those events, but because he'd gotten away from his work sooner than expected, with some information she might have been pleased to hear. She'd seemed put out by his refusal of her invitation, and he thought he might...well, make it up to her, but apparently she'd already retired by the time he got there. He couldn't fault her, it was rather late, and to be sure, she had more accommodating people keeping her company. Hungary had enjoyed a few drinks anyway, since he was there, and they'd put him up comfortably, so he couldn't complain. It was just a bit of a waste, not seeing the hostess. 

Still. He'd caught up with her, at last, between his schedule and her leisure activities. Whatever they were. She came bustling into a reception room to meet him, a little late, her olive-gold dress very glamorous for an afternoon appointment. Never any less striking, however many times he saw her enter a room; more, perhaps, with her increasing years settling nicely on her, and her interest in the fashions of the elite growing all the while. In fact, she was almost a little too dazzling for Hungary, these days- he couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't really the dresses or the hair- Austria had always been one for showy looks. It was the way she carried herself, he fancied, the way she'd grown into this Empire business. Not a bad thing, but...it was strange to him. Where she had been melancholy, irascible and dour, now she had an air of condescencion to her, like she was alighting from a higher plane to deal with lesser creatures. Oh, she was stern still, and not without sharpness, but her volatility had given way to a cool and distant grace. It was an entirely different type of imposing attitude to deal with. 

But it wasn't present today, he noticed. There was something like a distracted feel to the way she came in, and she seemed almost _pleasant,_ flashing Hungary a slight smile that he wasn't sure was actually directed at him. To see her this way, and not be privy to the reason- it gave him a sudden shock that he might no longer really know her. 

That was overdramatic, he decided, and he greeted her courteously; to his relief, she spoke just as she always had, and though he felt awkward, things proceeded smoothly- though not as smoothly as they once had, he thought, wistfully. 

"So I can't give you a date, but it's essentially guaranteed," he said, leaning forward on his knees. It was a bit embarrassing, this urge to please her. It was beneficial to him, of course, in one way, though it was counterproductive to the idea of asserting himself against her. He was slightly concerned he was overstating just how guaranteed his acceptance of her Pragmatic Sanction was, in fact, but he had decided to accept the Habsburg kings, after all. And he had come a long way since all that stuff about not submitting to the governance of a woman. 

A very long way. 

"Well, I would prefer it to be a little more than essentially guaranteed, but that is good news indeed, for the time being," Austria said, folding her gloved hands together in her lap. "I trust we will be able to speak more concretely about it in future, but for now, I thank you for your reassurance." 

"Ah...yeah." Hungary blinked, then smiled. "You don't have to be so formal, Ausztria." 

"Oh, excuse me," she said, and he noticed her eyes flickering to the clock on the mantel. "It's such an important matter for us, you know. But things are proceeding well enough. Leaving that aside, I apologise for being unavailable recently..." 

"Not at all," said Hungary, watching her carefully. "You must be very busy with all this. Persuading other states." 

"Yes." Austria didn't elaborate. She looked distracted; Hungary got the feeling the issue was becoming an overwhelming chore for her, and that her mind was probably on something else completely. He watched her pluck absent-mindedly at the thick ribbon choker she wore, almost amused at her rare tendency to fidget, but he was surprised to see a flower of red beneath it on her pale neck. It must have shown on his face, because she let her necklace go at once, peering at him. "Ungarn? Is there something the matter?" 

"You have- " He stopped himself just in time. It wasn't a flea bite, and he felt sure she hadn't been hanged recently; there was no point to bringing it up, other than to make the conversation suddenly turn hellishly awkward. "Ah, no. I was going to say that I have business in town before I head back to Buda for a while, so I'd best be on my way- " 

"Oh- so soon? Of course, you are even busier than I am, Ungarn." Austria rose as Hungary did, and he couldn't tell if she was surprised at his leaving, or relieved, her tone impeccably practiced for these occasions. But she gave him a faintly fond look as she gestured to the door. "I shall walk you to the gate. Yes, I must take care of a few things today, before my time is my own again..." 

The atmosphere seemed to lift as they strolled out together, and it was something like old times, Austria rambling about her engagements in her soothing, unhurried voice, and Hungary interjecting with amusement. He wished his excuse to leave had been untrue- he really did have business, money and markets- he would have asked her to take lunch with him. Perhaps they would both find the time for that one day soon, regardless of what they were doing privately, without each other. It wasn't all-or-nothing. 

They stopped around the gates, to wait for Hungary's driver, Austria still idly talking; Hungary watched her, pleased somehow just to see her do what she always did when she was comfortable. 

"And then after I spoke to Brandenburg, Preußen remarked to me that he was not nearly so happy with the arrangement as he had let on, and in fact had all sorts of words for it in private...he really ought to mind what he says around that boy, for he has no qualms whatsoever- " 

"Poroszország?" 

The name fell on him like a bolt of lightning, without the thunder; no great emotion, just a strange remembrance of seeing Prussia before that ball. He was light-haired and German, though Hungary would be damned if he measured up to Austria's tastes in any sense of the word. And yet- 

"Oh, yes," Austria said, distracted again, like she wasn't sure what she'd said. Her hand came up to fumble with her choker again, checking it was in place, Hungary supposed. "Quite the nuisance." 

"I know." He frowned at her, not sure whether to be concerned- or for what reason, exactly. "If he's bothering you- " 

"Oh, no, Ungarn, don't be silly," she replied, looking over his shoulder; he could hear his carriage approaching. "He is my subject, you know. They must all be dealt with. I would almost say he is agreeable, compared to some- ah- your carriage." 

"Subject, huh." She had a real way with words, Hungary had to say. But there was no time now to question her- his scruples about minding his own business were flying out the window, so it was just as well. "Well- I'll write to you when I'm home. Take care...Ausztria?" 

"Yes, yes," she said, looking back towards her palace, but she pulled herself away from it to peck him on the cheek, and send him on his way. 

Hungary left with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, watching through the window, until Austria- dawdling in the courtyard- disappeared from view. It wasn't suspicion- because he didn't suspect, he knew- and it wasn't jealousy. It was _confusion,_ if he had to put a name to it. Prussia had gone up in the world, or at least his wallet had, but he was still a beer-swilling, angry, foul-mouthed little lout. And he didn't know one end of a woman from the other, as far as Hungary knew. It was baffling. All he and Austria had ever liked to do together was insult each other. 

But then- and he almost laughed when he remembered- he and Austria had liked to insult each other too, once. He'd grown past it, himself- more or less, but perhaps she had not. Perhaps she hadn't changed so much after all, but he had, and that was...why. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm keeping the passage of time vague- they're nations, it could be weeks or years. but next chapter will kick off around the War of Polish Succession, so you know roughly where we are now. this Pragmatic Sanction business is gonna come to a head...! but first, more fun.
> 
> maybe it's better to think of these horribly long chapters as 'books'...who knows what'll happen next time


	4. scorned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in paradise. Should have seen it coming a mile off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1730s~...self-explanatory.

It was a windy day, not ideal for a meeting out of doors, but the paperwork could be left to someone else; Austria wanted to feel the breeze on her face as she looked out on her domain. Vienna got so much of her attention, it wasn't healthy, the crowded, well-defended city like a home and a cage to her. Innsbruck hadn't been graced with her presence- nor the Emperor's seat- in some time, so it felt only polite. A change of scenery, something a little more natural, with the river (which she was avoiding) and the mountains (which she'd rather not climb). Lovely.

She had come with a retinue, obviously, and also an uninvited straggler, but Hungary was being very decent about that, so she preferred not to bring it up. He was off wandering somewhere, anyway- seeking out a tavern, probably- she had warned him not to interfere in her business with Hungary, and he had acquiesced. It may have been wiser not to let him come along, but...she intended to holiday for a while in Innsbruck, and what was the point of a holiday without company? It was a bad habit she had acquired, perhaps- she knew Hungary thought so- but lately her personal pleasures often wormed their way in while she was on business. Just as Prussia did. 

But her full attention was on the matter at hand, she could assure Hungary. And it was extremely important to her, and a reason to celebrate, regardless. He had officially passed a motion to accept her little Archduchess, born after so many anxious years, and thriving- though her arrival had been marked by loss of a precious brother the year previously. Austria had never quite known the fear of new parents so intensely. She had never given it too much thought; it was sad when it happened, but they tended to have so many children...this one, however, had been alone, and would bear her weight alone. As a girl, too- and by now, the eldest of three sisters. It was a strange thought, daughters in the wake of a lost son, as if the father's fretting had been prophetic; as if all he'd hoped and feared had come to pass. 

It cheered Austria, to have Hungary accept the little girl. She could tease about his change of heart regarding queens, but it meant a great deal, to have him stand by his choice, by her, come what may. Especially with the delicate personal situation afoot. Which she would continue not to bring up. 

Her hair was thoroughly pinned up in a splendid tower that the wind could not topple, but Hungary's was worn in a tail, as ever, and he had to push it out of his face as he stood to take in the view of the gardens; they were staying at Ambras, rather than the Hofburg (which needed redecorating, frankly), and it was really better situated to impress, up in the hills. Austria strolled after Hungary, noting with pride the way he gazed over her pretty castle, and the quaint city below. 

"You must see the portrait gallery, Ungarn," she said, casually; for a business meeting, she had no real inclination to talk about politics. It was more of an expression of gratitude- or a victory tour for herself, perhaps. Hungary turned to her, and smiled, leaning against a decorative pillar. 

"I will, but I think I'd like to take a look around town, myself." 

"Oh? Of course." He loved markets and boats and people, and that sort of thing. It was a bit grubby for Austria's liking. She loved her people, but she loved them like a benevolent monarch, whereas Hungary liked to love them in person. Which was also a bit grubby, come to that, one didn't know where they'd _been._ Not to cast aspersions upon her dearest friend, but she kept such habits of his firmly in mind, in case her habit came up for discussion. Or returned from his wanderings. "Shall I arrange for a carriage?" 

"No, no. I'll take a walk, I think," he said, looking out over the town again, to the river. "What about you? Interested?" 

"Not at all," Austria replied at once, and it was a mark of their long relationship that Hungary rolled his eyes, amused. "I believe I will keep to the gardens. I may retire for tea...besides, I must be here when Preußen returns- ah." 

There she went, bringing it up. Hungary glanced back at her, raising an eyebrow, but he said nothing. 

"I absolutely must supervise him in my castle, there is no telling what he might do, that ingrate," she went on, and she could have sworn she saw Hungary smile slightly, before he turned to face her with his hands on his hips and his face stern. 

"If he acts up, I'll throw him out right away." 

"Really." 

"Right down this hillside." 

Austria couldn't help but chuckle. "Then perhaps you had better stay here and monitor the situation?" 

"Ah, well..." Hungary hesitated, and she couldn't blame him- she wasn't sure why she'd suggested that herself, when the three of them in a room together had always been rather difficult- but before he could say any more, a shout reached them from across the grounds. Prussia's voice carried alarmingly well. Austria could see Hungary's muscles tensing with irritation already. "...There he is." 

"Now, now," Austria said, though nothing had happened yet, and then she turned to watch Prussia approach at a jog. In dark grey, he stood out against the white of the castle walls; she supposed she must do the same against the green slopes, in a gown of vivid peach silk that tumbled about her in the wind, her white petticoats flashing. She called out to him, projecting her bored voice as well as he could. "Stop your shouting at once, you fool." 

"Lighten up, Princess, for Christ's sake," he said, taking deep breaths as he slowed to a stop near her. "Is everything uphill around here? This is why you stick to Vienna, isn't it? Jesus, don't ask me to carry you anywhere- " 

"I wouldn't ask you to carry me," Austria snapped, with a sharp look towards Hungary; his eyes were firmly glued to Prussia, as though he was a rodent that had just made an appearance in the pantry. "Be quiet. If it was winter you would bring the mountain down on us." 

"Oh? Is that how it is today?" Prussia's voice was devilish. This was why Austria _kept them apart._ It wasn't up to her to cater to Hungary's feelings, she knew that, and in any case there was no _hiding_ something that had been an open secret for a while. But somehow she felt...responsible, like she had to mitigate the situation, at least for her own comfort. She was not in a position to 'choose' a suitor, and see only him, cutting previous paramours from her social circle. And so, this dance. Prussia took delight in being as provocative as possible, and Austria made no attempt to understand the cockfight happening around her. 

He circled around behind her, draping an arm over her shoulder- which, against the wind, was rather welcome, but she clucked her tongue at him anyway. _Behave._

"I'm not interrupting your backroom deals, am I?" he said, grinning at Hungary. "Not that it matters to me, I mean, I was already on board with the little queen thing, so you can just pretend I'm not even here- " 

"If only," Hungary cut in. 

"Yeeeah, well..." Prussia went on, and as much as she... _enjoyed_ him, Austria could have given him a good pinch for his tone, let alone whatever Hungary wanted to do to him. "I was invited along at Österreich's pleasure- nothin' to do with you, so don't you worry about it, Ungarn. I could leave you alone with her again if you really wanted, but I think you'll be disappoi- _ow!_ " 

"Hold your tongue," Austria said, her nails dancing somewhere unmentionable in warning. "You begged me to bring you along because you were so listless at home. Now be polite, or I will send you to the scullery to make yourself useful." 

"Ugh, Christ," he said, leaning heavily on her, but he knew better- somehow- than to continue to antagonise her; he had learned, in the time they'd spent together, that she would threaten to throw him out of her bedroom and mean it. Although she had to admit to herself that she had been lenient with him, too lenient, for the sake of having her needs met. "Alright, already, Mutter. I'll be _upstairs_ when you want me- you and him can make small talk out here all you want- " 

"No, I'm on my way out," said Hungary, adjusting his coat in the manner of a doorman spoiling for a fight with a patron. "I'll see you at luncheon tomorrow, Ausztria, there's some things you should read- " 

"Oh, yes, the ministers will join us- " 

"And _you,_ " he went on, as if Austria hadn't spoken, looming threateningly in Prussia's direction, "had better not be anywhere I can see you. Got it?" 

"Go find a cattle market or a whorehouse already, Ungarn," Prussia said, and he got a shove as Hungary passed in reward. They watched him stalk down the hill, disappearing among the greenery, in awkwardly silent contemplation. 

"Well, that's that out of the way," said Prussia, inconsiderately, but correctly. 

\- 

"You shouldn't antagonise him so, Preußen," Austria was saying, from where she was lying on the bed. They'd all been given their own fairly lavish guest rooms, but Prussia hadn't even bothered to look at his, and Hungary's interest in staying at the castle with them was in doubt. Austria had the nicest room, anyway, as usual. Unlike her room at home, it was on the plain side, but what it lacked in purple flock and golden crown moulding, it made up for with the relative dearth of clutter and slovenliness. Not that she wasn't trying to make it more homely, with her clothing artfully left on the rug. Prussia picked up her dress, a delicate, expensive thing, and hung it over a chair with a disgruntled noise in her direction. 

She wasn't listening, or watching, lying on her belly and facing away from him. Reading a book, or some documents or something, her legs in their patterned white stockings shifting lazily now and again, like the tail of that fluffy beast she kept at home. She liked puppies for being sweet-natured simpletons, but she had far more in common with that majestic, hateful thing. Prussia liked her better than he liked the cat, though. He liked, especially, the fact that she preferred to be unclothed while she was resting, only her shift still on. 

He approached her with interest, though he still frowned at what she'd said, not replying for a long moment while he studied her. From her delicate feet, up her legs- perhaps his favourite feature- to the round rump wrapped in fine fabric- or, well, maybe it was that- and onwards up her back, where her shining hair fell in thick curls. Prussia found himself crawling on to the bed beside her, straining over her shoulder to see what she was reading. 

"Why not?" he said, finally, peering at letters and seals and other important-looking things. "He wants to fuckin' gut me no matter what I do, always has, makes no difference to me- why shouldn't I give it back?" 

"Because it annoys me," Austria replied, sounding- well, _bored,_ like she almost always did. Sometimes she sounded stern, or angry, or a little amused, but that was about it. It was her accent, probably. She couldn't possibly be bored with him. "Think about my position, please." 

"Your position?" Prussia was certainly thinking about that, his eyes wandering down her back again, but that wasn't what she was getting at, he felt. "Listen, don't take it personal, Princess, he's hated me since we were brats, me fucking you's just the icing on the cake for him- " 

"Watch your mouth." 

"Sorry. Uh. What do we do- fornicate? Or was it- uh- copulate- " 

"Cease your vulgarity. Do you really think it is impersonal for me? You know how things are," Austria said, not looking up from her letters, but there was a significance to her voice. She was unwilling to talk about her personal history with Hungary, and though part of him was burning with curiosity, Prussia was mostly unwilling to hear it. As far as he was concerned it was irrelevant, over and done with- whatever she did with him now, politically, was her own affair. Hell, she could sleep with him if she wanted, it wasn't Prussia's business to tell her not to. He'd prefer it if she didn't, though. Only for reasons relating to self-esteem. 

He had a feeling she wouldn't anyway- she could be seeing every other soul in Europe, and she wouldn't go _there_ again. Prussia could see _how things were,_ indeed- painfully stiff. It was Hungary's loss, if he had so much pride that he was willing to let Prussia just take her. If that was what had happened. Austria would tell it differently, as ever. 

Prussia placed a hand on the small of her back, warm against her relative coolness, and felt her move the slightest in response. 

"Tch, maybe you shouldn't hang around him if it's always this much of a fuckin' pain." That, there on that page, was probably the seal of the Hungarian Diet- which the Emperor ran, so technically- wasn't all this a conflict of interest? Prussia had no idea _who_ exactly was making Hungary's decisions for him; a room full of old men, perhaps. He sort of knew the feeling, but it would be a stretch to say he empathised. He tried to reach for the paper, but Austria batted him away. 

"We are still friends," she said, and Prussia rolled his eyes. He didn't even know what she meant by that, which, if he were a more introspective person, would have struck him as a sorry state of affairs. "Besides which, one cannot pick and choose who one deigns to see. That is not diplomacy." 

"I thought that was exactly what diplomacy was." Since she wasn't letting him interfere in her reading, he slid his hand down her backside instead, giving her a fond squeeze before continuing on down her thighs, testing their thickness with his fingers. Like you might test a leg of lamb, or some such. Good firmness, very fresh, with a wonderful layer of fat. Austria interrupted his fanciful nonsense by twitching her legs around, and Prussia took the opportunity to slip her chemise up over her hips. Now that was better. 

"What _are_ you doing?" She was very absorbed in whatever she was reading, considering. He supposed it made sense, she'd been obsessed with this deal of hers for years, and she was still trying to force it on several major players, who were all taking their time deliberating. All over bullshit, of course. No one thought a queen was ideal, but it wasn't like they'd never seen one before. She wouldn't be Emperor, anyway. Bavaria wanted to get his grubby hands on that honour, Prussia knew. They were all like buyers at an auction-house, anxiously trying to outbid each other, and Austria would go to the ends of the earth before she'd let her estate go up for sale. That little girl was going to be queen, whether by right or by force. He'd seen her, only a tiny thing, already trussed-up in fine dresses and carrying herself with grace. He had to admire Austria's sheer front. 

And her back. 

"Hey, Princess, wanna f- fornicate?" 

"Good grief." 

He took that as a yes, and his wandering hands eagerly parted her thighs, his fingers creeping around between them until they settled into a nice rhythm, giving her something to take her mind off her work. She responded with a sigh, a shift of her body to be more comfortable, but she seemed content to be lazily pleasured where she was. Well, that was all right by him. In fact, two could play politics in bed. 

"Say, Princess, I was actually gonna ask you something," he began, resting his chin on his elbow while his other hand worked her, his fingers fitting snugly inside her and searching for the right angle. He was pretty good at finding it, these days. 

"...Hmm?" Prussia wasn't sure if she was distracted from her work by his attentions or vice-versa, but distracted was good either way. He wriggled closer to her, to kiss her bare shoulder and move his fingers a little more quickly, until the force shifted Austria against the bed, and she braced herself. She was breathing more heavily, and he noticed her screw up some document in her hand with a smile. 

"Yeah, I just remembered," he went on, nudging her hair aside to nip at her neck. "See...the King wants to buy this little bit of land...but the current, uh, tenants are being a little unreasonable- " 

"What are you...a-ah- " He'd moved on to giving her clit quick, circular strokes, and he could see her legs twitching with the shock to her nerves. It was an underhanded tactic, but if everyone else could talk politics on this trip, why not him? Austria preferred to deal with Brandenburg, and Brandenburg preferred Austria to deal with Brandenburg, and Prussia...well, he'd show up in Vienna with an agenda and leave with a hangover. 

"I'm just saying, if you could put a word in with them- y'know, since you said you'd keep our interests in mind, Princess," he said, almost a whisper into her ear, and though the words didn't seem to make much impact, the feel of his breath made her shudder, and scatter her papers. He was focused on her, but he wasn't a statue, and he rolled to his side to take the pressure off his erection. "C'mon, you can do me a little favour, can't you?" 

Seductive persuasion wasn't necessarily his strong suit, no matter how much effort he made to keep his voice low and appealing. 

"Preußen," Austria moaned- that was good- but she flicked a piece of sealing-wax at him with surprisingly good aim. "I told you- I won't discuss business in bed- nnh- " 

"But- " 

" _No-_ now- now..." 

Damn her and her selfishness. He might have been a touch rougher with her in frustration, as he fumbled his breeches open and mounted her as she was, lying prone on the bed, but she didn't seem to have a bad word to say about it. He pulled her hips up for leverage, his fingers eagerly digging into her rear. Payment, for all the times she'd clawed him to ribbons. She was _lazy,_ and preferred the traditional position; it was a thrill to him to have her any other way, and in his infinite sexual wisdom, he thought she might have gotten a thrill out of this, too. It was funny, watching her from above as he rode her, with books and pages scattered under her face- as if she was still trying to work with her fingers twisted in the bedsheets, and each thrust drawing an unabashed cry. Prussia would have to keep this in his memory for when she needed a dose of humility. 

"See, Princess, you're still thinking of politics," he said, his voice laboured in her ear as he leaned down over her, creasing and crushing the paper himself with his weight, and she made a token effort to slap his arms away before grasping one of his hands. She laced her fingers through his- despite his egocentric and annoying behaviour (he was having a rare moment of self-awareness)- and it sent a rush of warmth through his chest to settle at his solar plexus. "Ah, ah- I s'pose I forgive you, though- tch- " 

"You're- an imbecile- _aah-_ " 

She was rocking back against him and clenching hard around him, and with frantic movements and the tearing sound of paper, they finished, with gusto. 

It was a mess, but it was satisfying. Unsuccessful, maybe- he wasn't cut out for _her_ negotiating style- but Prussia didn't mind so much, as he lay on the bed catching his breath. There was always next time. 

Austria lay on her back, exposed, neither of them still coy enough to worry about it; she panted and took shuddering breaths, staring at the canopy, then she picked up some of her bedraggled pages. No fit state to be seen, with those rips and creases. She looked them over, rolled her beautiful dilated eyes, and tossed them up in the air. Well, perhaps they weren't so important after all. 

"Preußen," she said, in that honeyed voice, husky with her breath. He rolled towards her, smiling stupidly. 

"Mm?" 

"Don't you ever try to _fuck_ me for a favour again." 

Ah. Well. She knew how to get the point across. 

\- 

Hungary struck many who met him as a warm person, fairly open and without pretension or much of a mask. In truth, he may simply have been better at guarding what needed to be guarded. It helped, in his opinion, that he didn't think of it as a game to be played, unlike some people he could mention. He was honest, and he was private. It was a necessity, really, having grown up the way he had- his youth had been on the wild side, but he had ultimately found himself on the receiving end of _diplomacy,_ and after that it didn't pay to be too free with what he was thinking, feeling, or planning. 

In honesty, he had taken well to the change- not happily, but well. His maturity kept him afloat, though it was a double-edged sword- knowing all the while that others could still do what they wanted, make wild threats, enforce their selfish whims, and he could not, despite that deeply-buried instinct to ride and conquer at no provocation. Which currently manifested as explosive anger, in the main. Hungary's habit of taking time for himself, almost meditative, was not simply a love for natural surroundings and quiet, but a method of controlling himself. 

One of these days, though, he was going to say the hell with it, and break several of Prussia's teeth. Austria would probably forgive him for the outburst in a couple of weeks or so. He could bring her a cake? Something like that. Whatever Prussia was doing to keep her sweet despite repeated infractions was obviously working, he should give it a try himself. Perhaps it would make him more appealing to her in some perverse way. He no longer knew what she was thinking. 

He gave a great sigh, and reeled those thoughts in, stretching out on the grass where he lay comfortably. Far from towns, far from even farms, and all the things that would otherwise occupy his methodical mind and its need to keep him busy. There was a horse to think about buying. There was a food he hadn't tried. There was a woman- well, regardless, there was always work to be done, whether it was 'unimportant' labouring or a political crisis. It was never good for him to get wrapped up in Austria, and what _she_ thought and what _she_ was doing, it pulled him from his priorities. He was a man determined in his independence, who nonetheless had a selfless streak that, if he wasn't careful, would somehow unravel that determination almost before he noticed. 

It was better for him to spend time alone, evaluating these things. He made it clear to his friends and associates- such as they were- that he needed to be left to his own devices at times, and by and large it was respected. 

By and large. 

"Węgry," came a voice from behind him up the slope, a voice with a girlish pitch and a nasal, flat tone. Annoying and compelling. She dragged out her words when she wanted attention. "Węgry, help me down already." 

"I thought you could climb trees by now? You got up there by yourself." He didn't look back at her, smiling to himself with his eyes closed, and feeling the warm sunlight on his face each time the breeze dropped. 

The girl made a noise like he was the slowest creature she'd ever encountered. " _Becaaause,_ pulling myself _up_ is easy, but going _down_ I can't see my feet at all in this dress and I just- _can't-_ " 

There was a grunt and a scuffling sound as she tried anyway, obviously unsuccessfully. Hungary rolled over now to look around, resting his chin on his hand. Poland's shoes, brightly-coloured little wedge mules, were sitting by themselves at the foot of the tree. The feet they belonged to were struggling with tree branches, expensive stockings and all. It was quite a sight- like seeing an exotic bird of paradise suddenly appear in the farmyard- Poland tended to insist on wearing the latest and finest gowns (despite that Hungary felt peasant-wear was more charming on her, but it was none of his business), and then equally insist on tearing about the place like a young boy. She had an odd combination of delicacy and awkwardness to her, all limbs and elfin features wrapped in a turquoise dress that probably fit right, but looked too big for her. There was lace trim and gold thread and beading and goodness knew what else, but her hair was comparatively undone- pale blonde, so fashionable in colour, but worn loose and shortish like a child's. Hungary thought to tease her for looking like a lost parrot, or make a crack about some gigantic berry suddenly growing, but thought better of it. 

"Well?" she demanded, both her hands wrapped around a branch above her while her feet rested precariously on another. "Don't lie there, God. My dress is gonna get ruined if I fall, y'know? It's new." 

"Yeah...how's it working out for you? That bodice." Hungary pushed himself to his feet in an agile movement, relenting- for he couldn't long say no- but finding it hard to refrain from mocking her, just a little. Poland had no figure at all. Or, well, that wasn't true; it depended on one's tastes, and Hungary's were broad and undemanding. But compared to a woman like Austria, who filled her gowns in the manner of a marble statue, the distinction between flesh and fabric nearly an illusion- Poland just didn't. And it was rather humorous. "Be careful on the way down, now, _Polska,_ it looks loose- " 

"Shut up! I can't believe you," she complained, and it was well that Hungary was under the tree to catch her, because she let go of her branch to pull her bodice up self-consciously. She was light enough that the bough holding her weight probably wouldn't break, but he reached up anyway, arms open. 

"Come on, I've got you." 

"You better not do anything weird, Węgry," she said, flailing an arm towards him as she made a perilous attempt at sliding down the trunk of the tree; she was lucky he was tall, and could reach to steady her. "Like, take advantage- " 

"Advantage? Now what are you talking about?" he asked, light and humouring just as she was teasing in her own impish way. She grabbed a lower branch, and ended up in a sort of strange crouch- if anyone had seen this spectacle, they would have been horrified at her comportment. Hungary couldn't help thinking of Austria still, thoroughly appalled by the outdoors; there was a thin thread of similarity in the two women, he thought, something feminine and high-bred, but from there they had travelled distant paths. Poland was a person of many colours, horribly used to strife in her country, yet almost blasé about it; tomboyish, but fairy-like, and toughly resilient, from her attitude to her habit of dressing so brightly. They had a lot in common, Hungary and Poland. 

That included a certain unorthodox way of communicating, though she far excelled him with her weird flirtations. She was the type to be free with her friends, and suddenly shut herself up inside when confronted with anything unknown and fearsome. Unlike Austria, who refused fear, Poland seemed to fight with it. 

It was typical of her to get herself stuck because she'd been bold enough to go up, and only then realised she was nervous to come down again. Like a cat. She was inching towards a point where Hungary could grab her, but not focusing at all, still thinking of her clothes. 

"I mean that whole routine where you cop a feel while you're helping the damsel in distress," she said, her feet searching for purchase somewhere in the branches. "I know you _looove_ that stuff, like with your girlfriend- " 

"She doesn't climb trees," Hungary interrupted, not bothering to correct the terminology, but taking exception to the scenario presented. "You make me sound like a cad, I'm hurt. I only offer assistance to pretty maids out of the goodness of my heart- " 

"Whatever," she scoffed. "Ugh- c-catch me, okay? Don't let me fall- I know you do it with her 'cause you always used to go on about helping her off her horse'n'everything, I guess you helped her out of her dress too, right? 'Cause she was so helpless in it." 

There was a wicked smile on Poland's face, even as she concentrated on the ground below instead of Hungary, who was amused despite his disgruntlement at the accusation. It wouldn't be good form to deny his interests too much, it would make him look guilty as sin. Poland wasn't half the helpless damsel Austria could be, but she had her own charm, for a man who liked things to be a little more rough-and-tumble sometimes. She didn't seem to be making any further progress, so he reached up and grabbed her around the hips, or whatever passed for hips in the layers of her skirt- 

-only to badly stifle a laugh, because her bodice was on the loose side after all, and apparently she didn't see the need for proper underthings. 

"Wh-what?!" she demanded, not making it any easier for him to lift her, with her twisting around like a caught hare. "What's funny?! God, if you drop me- " 

"Ah, I was wondering why it looked strange, I couldn't put my finger on it," Hungary said, gripping her tightly and hefting her out of the branches to bear her weight himself- her chest was close to his face, and the stiff front of her bodice stuck out at an odd angle, revealing more than Poland would probably like. "I know you're already slender, but the stays would make it sit right, wouldn't they?" 

She paused- suspended awkwardly with little grace, arms and legs at strange angles- to parse what he was saying, then finally looked down at her own chest, and took a gasping, offended, horrified breath in readiness to yell about it. 

"Y-You- h-how could you- I _told_ you not to do anything _weird!!_ " she wailed, struggling again, and Hungary let her scramble from him back to her own feet, so she could furiously pull her dress up and jab an accusing finger in his direction. It wasn't kind to laugh as she turned scarlet and teared up with her ghastly embarrassment, but he couldn't help it, leaning against the tree and doubling over with his deep, heaving amusement. 

"Don't _laugh,_ " she said, pitiful and angry, her arms crossed over her chest- her tiny chest, Hungary wanted to point out, as if that made it better somehow- as if it was less shocking than a more-endowed woman's bosom would be. But that wasn't very fair, was it, especially when those barely-there swells had still given him a grin, her nipples red and prominent. It was an odd, different kind of attractiveness. She probably wouldn't be especially pleased to hear that, either, though. 

"Sorry," he said, forcibly filling his lungs with a sobering breath. "Sorry, sorry- do you want me to put an extra stitch in it somewhere? To hold it all in." 

"God!! Shut up!" Poland dropped to the ground suddenly, in a big balloon of silk, all hunched up and irritable. She couldn't bear being teased; for a fleeting moment Hungary experienced déjà vu, wondering where he had seen this kind of belligerent self-consciousness before. "You can't just pick on me, who do you think you are, huh, Węgry?! Like I haven't had the worst century already!" 

Oh. It clicked into place, then- it should have been obvious, but Hungary tried not to spend his time contemplating the relationships of _Prussia,_ of all people. But it was true, those two had practically grown up together, and where Hungary considered Poland a cultural compatriot- his kin, almost- it struck him as odd that Prussia may feel similarly. They had all of them their own curiously private dealings with each other, nations- it was a poignant reflection of his situation with his 'girlfriend', as Poland had so inaccurately put it. For every moment he spent with Austria, and every little thing he knew of her, she lived another life entirely with each lover, each subject, each enemy. 

It would be hypocritical, though, to say he didn't do the same. Here he was, flirting with Poland, after all. But somehow- that was different, wasn't it? Harmless, to his mind. Be it his sex or his relatively humble status or the sheer natural self-serving worldview people tend to have, whatever the cause, he held himself to a somewhat different set of standards, without entirely realising it. 

He sat near Poland, patting her shoulder in blithe disregard of her silent tantrum. "I feel like somebody says that a couple of decades into every century." 

"Ugh, 'cause every one sucks?" 

"...Well...yeah." He paused, then lay back on the grass, hands behind his head. "For us, anyway." 

"Oh, that's right," Poland said, turning to him with a roll of her slightly sharp eyes, her distress forgotten. "Some people manage to have a good time, I guess, like that northern asshole with the frozen-up face, I bet he's living it up- or your pretty princess, since she's, like...Turk-free now? Thanks to me." 

"Ausztria's pretty busy- " Hungary began (after spending a moment working out who else Poland was referring to), but he stopped himself. She was busy, and stressed, he presumed, but she was also _living it up,_ after a fashion. But it wouldn't be very decent to say so. "...Hmm." 

"What? Hmm, what?" It was useless trying to keep things from Poland- her attention wandered, but when it fixed on something, it was like being caught on a fishing pole, with a hook tugging endlessly at your lip. "What's she doing? Planning on telling me what to do again, huh? It's not like I don't want help fixing this whole _thing-_ " -what a way to phrase 'civil war'- " -but you know what she means by _help,_ and Rosja too, uuugh..." 

She flopped down on the grass next to him, and Hungary smiled ruefully. He did know what was meant by _help_ when one had internal struggles. He had even had virtually the same problems- the election of monarchs by a parliament of the nobility tended to result in disaster sooner or later. Of course, thanks to Austria's _help_ he had long since given up on that little bit of would-be democracy. But he'd had the option to go back, and he'd chosen not to. There was something to be said for stability in the royal line- even if he had trepidations about the new heir's ascent being as smooth as Austria was trying to make it. 

"Honestly, talking about fending off Oszmán for Ausztria and having the Diet rip itself apart, it makes me feel like I'm back in the 1400s..." Hungary sighed, and looked up at the swaying leaves above him. "These problems like to hang around, don't they?" 

"You calling me old-fashioned? Tsk...that was tough for you, huh?" Poland watched the leaves with him, though he felt she was really looking at the sky in between them. She raised a hand, grasping idly at the air. "But it was tough for her, y'know...'cause he was aiming at _her,_ right? Yeah, and she had us as her castle walls, so she was lucky! But still, she was really messed up when I came to help her last time. She cried and everything. I was all, you can cry?! But I gave her a hug!" 

Hungary had turned to look at Poland as she spoke, fascinated. If she was like Prussia in her exaggerated mannerisms, she wasn't like him in her empathy- ill-worded though it was. It gave Hungary a sharp twinge of guilt to hear her speak of Austria's suffering, of her crying in fear and relief- _he_ had been unfortunately torn in two during that battle, watching his own people aid the Ottomans. It hadn't been that long ago, a few decades now, and he still felt as though he had only just lifted his head above water again. Poland, too brave and honourable for her contemporaries, had ridden to Austria's rescue in quite a glorious charge, based only on a mutual promise of protection. She would have known, when she made it, that Austria was the more likely target- and the worse combatant, for that matter. 

They had another odd, private relationship, in the end. 

"Anyway, looks like you're fixed for the future, with that Pragmatic Dealio," Poland continued, rolling to her side to fix him with a smirk. Her eyes were sea-green and large in her face, though they had a narrow look, shrewd and sultry for such an airheaded character. Her mouth too was expressive, with a rounded pout and sharp corners when she smiled. She was very pretty, for all she lacked in the painter's standard of beauty, simpering and doughy. Real women were more vibrant than artists liked to suggest, and nations most of all. Hungary met her with his own slow smile, his hair falling into his eyes. 

"What kind of comment is that? Are you making fun of me?" 

"Well, I dunno, it's better than _my_ problem," she said, making a face. "But it's nice to make stuff official, so you're not living in sin anymore." 

Her eyes twinkled with mirth, and Hungary laughed even with the slight heat she'd brought to his face- he was far too sensitive to such remarks, he'd really have to shake that off. "We're not going to rename ourselves the _Austrian-Hungarian Commonwealth_ anytime soon. It'd have to be the _Austrian-Hungarian-Bohemian-Croatian-Et Cetera_ Commonwealth, and then we'd run into trouble with the Germans." 

"Ah, yeah, she's like one of those guys who has a wife and all, but he secretly has another family in the next town," Poland said, as if she knew all about it. "Don't you ever get jealous? Like, we have vassals, but if Liet had this whole other household, I'd be sooo..." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Hungary replied, clearing his throat sternly so he wouldn't say anything further. And besides, privately, he considered _Poland_ to be the Austria in her scenario. He didn't know Lithuania that well, personally- it seemed hardly anyone did- but he felt very... _sympathetic_ towards her, to say the least. Poland was looking at him like she didn't believe him, and that just confirmed his opinion. 

"Right," she said, prodding him in the chest; he acted as though she'd given him a great shove, thudding down flat on his back with a groan at the turn the conversation was taking. She only crawled closer to him, to peer down at his face. "So, if I asked, hey, Węgry, how come you're not at home playing horsey-rides with your girlfriend? you wouldn't say, oh, well, I think she's breaking in a new mount- " 

"Lengyelország! I never said anything about- what gave you that impression?! Don't talk about her like she's some kind o-of- " 

"Slut? God, get a grip, you old geezer," Poland scoffed, "and call me _Polska_ like you always do, your word is...ugh! Hey, do you take a vow of celibacy when you're on a break? You know, like a priest?" 

"Wh- " Hungary reeled, every last word in her sentence bombarding his mind, and he tried to sit up, but she leaned heavily on his chest like he was a pillow. He groaned again, an arm over his eyes. "Christ, one thing at a time. We're not on a break- " 

"Excuse me, but you haven't talked about boning her in like five hundred years- " 

"Because we're not together the way you think we are- can't you speak like a lady?!" 

"No," she said, cheerfully, folding her arms over his chest and resting her chin on them. "Go on, tell me the rest." 

"Secondly," Hungary said, firmly, with a look that he hoped was cautionary, "she has a lot of people to deal with, and what she does with them is none of my business." 

"Riiiiiiight." 

"She was married when I first- " He broke off, because that wasn't helping anyone's case as far as the name-calling went. "That's just the way it is. And thirdly, it works both ways, so- " 

"So you definitely don't sit around praying your horny thoughts away, and you never have, so don't even think of saying 'she started it' or something dumb like that," Poland said, smugly. "You were some kinda precocious little man-tart already and you just marched on into her marriage, you homewrecker, and took her precious flower which was like, gently used but still, and now you wanna pout about her exploring her options- who _is_ she seeing, anyway? I need to know 'cause it affects my foreign policy." 

"Liar," Hungary groaned, but it was, in fact, true. At least, in theory, anyone Austria suddenly favoured could be trouble for virtually everyone else. This time he was convinced that was the case- Prussia had already been trouble for his entire life, he didn't need _more_ indulgence from the Empire. For Poland specifically, he'd been one problem after another, including, apparently, the problem of her unladylike mannerisms. Still, he didn't feel inclined to tell her. If he didn't say it aloud, it remained a foolish but personal fling, and not a catastrophe in the making. Besides, he wasn't sure Poland deserved a warning, after that horribly accurate spiel. 

He remained silent, his eyes covered, but he could hear Poland brimming with some kind of entertainment at his expense, and feel her inching further up his chest, as if she was bursting to say something. He waited. 

"It's Prusy!" she cackled, and she'd probably known all along. He didn't know what on earth to call her relationship with that idiot, but he supposed they _talked,_ and that she was just as ruthless in dragging out Prussia's secrets. Or perhaps he was bragging about it. Some honest and mild part of Hungary recognised Prussia's terminal awkwardness, but a more righteously vindictive part would have had him hanged as a seducer. 

He uncovered his eyes and sort of glared up at Poland, then turned his face aside with a disgruntled noise, and she laughed outright at him, her tiny hand thumping heartily against his chest. 

"You really screwed up, huh?!" she said, her voice squeaky and high with laughter. "You got cuckolded by that total moron! Did you know he used to ask me to draw him diagrams?! Of, you know- and he looked up my skirt to check I wasn't making things up, he was dead serious about it!" 

Hungary really hadn't wanted that information. He slapped a hand against his forehead. "I can imagine." 

"Aw, he's prob'ly learned by now," she said, trying to be comforting (too little, too late). "She wouldn't _downgrade,_ she's the pickiest person I've ever met, like- we were eating goulash and she was all, ew, can't you make it more like _Ungaaarn_ does?" 

He grimaced. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?" 

"Maybe." Hungary had always had the impression that Poland's favourite pastime was embarrassing other people, ironic for someone so sensitive, but unlike _some,_ he supposed she meant it in fun. 'Lighten up,' so to speak. She was fiddling with the fastenings on his waistcoat, shiny brass on dark brown, and eyeing him up instead of looking at his face. "Don't you ever wear colour? Everyone's wearing bright colours. Get with the times." 

"It's not practical," he complained. He couldn't see himself in a bright gold coat or powder-blue trousers, because he always pictured himself in a stable or at the docks. Those were clothes for the high and stately, who wouldn't leave their courtyards. But then again, here was tree-climbing, grass-napping Poland in her Sunday best. 

"It's about making an impression, dummy," she said, sagely. "Prusy dresses like a French hairdresser...but it works for him, 'cause it makes him look like he has money, which I know he doesn't 'cause he asked me for thirty thalers. And when he's in Austria's palace, he looks like he's supposed to be there, doesn't he?" 

It was a pertinent remark, and Hungary looked at her curiously, unable to tell if she was giving him some obscured advice or just passing the time. 

"...Nothing is important enough for me to put so much lace on my body, Polska," he said, watching her lift the hem of his waistcoat to look at his shirt; he could feel one of her legs thrown over his, and her dress seemed flimsy now, still loose at her chest and shoulders, lacking all the necessary underpinnings. Hungary reached out, taking her by the chin to make her look around at him, and she gave him her best raised eyebrows. 

"Really? Nothing? That's funny," she said, not pulling away from his hand, or even acknowledging it. "So why're you all bent out of shape about her seeing other people if you won't even dress up a little for her? You know she likes _artsy_ stuff." 

"That's- " Hungary had to take a deep breath, to stop himself tugging on her cheek in chastisement. "Things like that shouldn't be important, and I'm not bent out of shape about her seeing other people, I'm- " 

"Oh please," Poland interrupted, now using his hand like a chin rest; she gave the impression of being comfortable absolutely anywhere. "I _just_ told you about impressions, even that dumbass Prusy gets it. Get _ooover_ yourself- and you so are bent out of shape- " 

"Only because it's him!" Hungary snapped, finally, ignoring the triumphant look that surfaced on Poland's face. "He's a disrespectful- opportunist- sponging little asshole, and he's _violent_ and I don't trust him as far as I could throw him- " 

He broke off with a noise of suppressed rage, and Poland rolled her eyes, pinching his arm where perhaps he'd gripped her face too tightly. 

"You don't need to tell _me,_ " she said, long-suffering; it was intriguing enough to cool Hungary's sudden fire, but he didn't like to ask. He knew the gist, all the help she'd given Prussia, only to have him swept up in the Imperial machine, back to German control, now that he had value. That was Austria's doing, in the end. 

Instead, he chose to change the subject, succinctly. "Well...fuck him." 

It worked, inasmuch as Poland gave a snort and immediately went off on a tangent. 

"So anyway," she said, casually, "with him on your turf, what _have_ you been doing with yourself? Do you _do_ brothels?" 

" _No,_ " Hungary replied, too quick, and he gave her chin a little shake; she only stuck her tongue out at him. "I have standards." 

"Oh, right, you just walk into town and they all fall over ready for you," Poland laughed, but she tilted her head, and looked at him like she sort of believed it. Suddenly, though, she moved, pushing off his chest to pull herself up to her knees. "Yeah, you don't need help, I guess- " 

"Oh? _Oh?_ " 

Hungary grabbed her around the waist, feeling her lithe and stringy under the slippery fabric- a fey creature ready to slip away with a laugh at your expense, but she fell down on him happily enough, staying for now. She straddled him unprompted, and he felt himself respond to the thin bared legs, grabbing for her hips and feeling bone through satin skin- she was careworn, but not hungry, this was natural. A natural, weird charm. Different- different in her preferences, always on top (because she was so small, perhaps, or because of some stupid pony joke rolling around in her head), not one for dragging it out, no need for special, careful handling. 

She was familiar to taste, nostalgic, reassuring- good for his ego, with her unreserved and unflattering reactions, her entire body blushing dark vermillion where he touched. And it was easy, there was nothing to it- really nothing; she was, he felt, his truest confidant, and whatever they did for recreation changed little. Interesting, that this was what he felt suited him, while what he _wanted_ was something utterly alien. He might as well have wanted the moon. 

He wouldn't mention this to Austria, like he'd never mentioned it before; it wasn't a threat to her in her glittering orbit, something so earthly. 

\- 

It was clear to Austria what her next occupation would be, the next problem waiting to be solved on her horizon, with Poland in two minds over a suitable king. If she did not want to make a choice- or, to be precise, a good choice- then there were people who would gladly make the choice for her. Among them France, which was unacceptable. The French queen was Polish, and her father stood for Polish kingship; that was all very well, but France had no idea what she was doing with marital relations. Unsurprising, given her attitude towards long-term commitment. She would simply barge in with an army and render the whole subtlety of diplomacy moot, anyway- so it would be prudent to beat her to the punch. 

Of course, Austria didn't particularly like the other contender either, and had a mind to pursue Portugal's claim (why _did_ humans spread themselves around so much?). He would be...amenable, she hoped. She had to admit a small satisfaction, any time she had genial dealings with him, as it felt like a slap in the face to Spain, and the Bourbon witch who had pulled her away. But that was ancient history, and she'd grown cold to it; it was better to keep things close to home. 

And she intended to get this campaign of meddlement off the ground with someone very close to her- Prussia, because for all his faults as a state, he was very competent at fielding troops, and quite relevant to the Polish question- and someone not exactly her next-door neighbour, but alike in interests: Russia. A curious person who gave the impression of never having interacted with other human or human-like people before, but friendly enough, though she wouldn't like to spend more than an hour with him. It felt like his pleasant face might begin to wear away after that. 

Russia's assistance was quite assured- he had his fingers in many Central European pies- but Prussia would have to be ordered to pull himself together and help. Not that Austria thought he was unwilling in principle, his king was perfectly interested in the situation, but there were...problems. _Family_ problems, you might say. Austria had seen just about everything there was to see, within the sprawling, inbred Habsburg clan, but a mutinous crown prince was fairly high up the list of notable incidents. And Prussia had never had a very good attention span, anyway. She suspected that was the cause- well...one cause- behind his recent misbehaviour. 

She had broken up more than one squabble between him and Hungary in the past week alone, which was extraordinary- their timescales were not quite so _truncated_ as those of humans, a week passing like a breath, and yet her- her- _gentleman callers_ had seen fit to throw fighting words at each other as often as possible. It only happened that Hungary was around more often than usual for royal reasons- his young queen-to-be being Austria's charge, of course, and she had to get to know him. Prussia, meanwhile, was around for _Imperial_ reasons, such as the exact cause Austria was trying to push him to action on, but in reality it seemed he was only there to escape the stress of his home. 

By making love to her or badgering Hungary for a fight, she couldn't quite tell. In fact, between his belligerence, and his frequent inconsiderate requests for yet more privileges, she had half a mind to look the other way and let Hungary swing for him. But then he would bring her some trinket and give her the affection she couldn't admit to craving, and she would soften again, and this cycle would go on... All she wanted was for the two to _avoid_ each other, for she could not contemplate any arrangement more complex than that; it would make her think uncomfortably of the future, and all the things doomed to fail. 

He was in Vienna again, by request, because she absolutely had to secure his cooperation- she could feel the situation in Poland's house coming to a head, slowly, the clouds gathering from every corner of the continent. She pitied Poland for it, in a way- she held a great quantity of land, and occupied an advantageous and unlucky position between powers- but that was irrelevant. Austria often dawdled and appeased, when she was able, but the mere mention of France made her a very decisive woman. The heels of her gilded button-up boots sent resounding clicks around the halls she passed through, her gloved hands holding a fur shawl around her shoulders- it was cold, and her dress was more stylish than insulating, yards of violet silk giving off a pale sheen. She would meet Prussia in the rear courtyard- it was better to make it casual, they'd found, no more use for audience rooms- and insist he came up to a warm room at once. 

But she heard a noise along the way, and rather than heading for the nearest outside door, she backtracked slightly to look out of a window; it gave her a view of the rear courtyard, where servants crossed from wing to wing, and deliveries came by cart. It was a voice, she realised, and it had only caught her attention for its familiarity and unique, scratchy quality, her ears finely attuned to it. Well, at least he was here. 

She fiddled with the window latches for a moment, having difficulty getting it open, and in the meanwhile, Prussia's voice became clearer- perhaps he'd stopped to converse with a servant, he often did- but the responding voice was rather deeper than she expected, and far less cordial. She thrust the windows open rather hastily, leaning out- the sill was set high in the wall, and she had to stretch to see what was happening. Not that she entirely felt she _wanted_ to see. 

\- 

Prussia had arrived in a timely fashion, to be sure, and he never expected Austria to be quite ready when he arrived (though God help him if he'd been late, he thought, with a twinge of annoyance for what must've been the hundredth time). It didn't matter much to him, he could occupy himself- making small talk with kindly old washerwomen and thieving apples from the stores- and to be honest, he enjoyed having the run of Austria's splendid palace. It was much more interesting to explore in full, than to remain in the 'nice' rooms she always set aside, or her bedchambers. She kept all the sort of ostentatious things that he used to have more of in his own castles, before Friedrich Wilhelm sold them off, and gave him both a sense of nostalgia and a firm desire for the future- to achieve the kind of status befitting all that treasure. For him, it wasn't a matter of if, but of _when._

A king who actually cared for such trifles would be necessary as well, of course, but, well, the old bastard was only getting older, and the young prince had the tastes of his dearly departed spendthrift grandsire; it was a pity that he didn't seem to want the kingdom. It was a real pity that he'd been raised by a brute, but at least his father loved the country, and worked for it- lacking in ambition, and good taste and decorum and all the rest, but he kept it alive. The boy, Prussia could feel rejecting him at every turn, and pity or no, he couldn't find much kindness in his heart for that. 

It was beginning to weigh on him in a way he didn't fully understand. Of course it was stressful to have a spat in the royal family. Of course it was embarrassing, that his tenure as a kingdom, still in its infancy, was already dominated by the ill-bred antics of one generation after another. He was desperate for approval and recognition, that part he was unashamed to admit (though he'd put it in less humiliating words), but the fact that his crown prince didn't want him touched on a raw nerve he barely acknowledged. But whether he would or not, it was making him short-tempered, impatient for things to go his way, and itching to give into destructive impulse. When he felt like fighting, he rarely actually sought to mangle anyone's face- he only seemed to want to mangle a relationship. 

It was deeply unfortunate, then, that his visit to Austria coincided with someone else's, someone who had the exact opposite tendency- who never wanted anything but peace, but held a fervent and badly-hidden wish to beat him to death. 

Prussia was well aware of it, he could see it in Hungary's body language, as soon as he spotted him leaning against a wall across the yard- as soon as Hungary spotted him, rather. It was how he imagined a fox felt when a trained hound saw it, that standoff in the meeting of eyes, not between predator and prey- but between predator and eradicator. A fox was a wild dog, in essence, wasn't it? A couple of degrees of separation, a difference in standing, that's all it was- Hungary was _shackled,_ by his own choice, in Prussia's opinion. And yet, wasn't it funny how he could demand this and that of Austria, and rise up against her, and all he got was negotiations, negotiations? Prussia would be cut down to size in a heartbeat, wouldn't he? Still earning the respect other people had by right. No matter what he did for her, or to her, for that matter. 

And he liked being with her. He really did. He wasn't a liar. When he was with her, his already-poor prioritising went out the nearest window, and he wanted her, he'd do whatever made her happy- her happiness, not the Empire's, was a rare and addicting delicacy, an oyster he wanted to swallow raw. He had nothing in the way of words or context for those feelings, he took them as he took everything else that pleased him, unreservedly and in great quantities. It was just that- when he wasn't with her, and he was forced to think of work and kings and status- it was easy to resent her firm grip on him, keeping him where he was. Too easy to grow frustrated and let those thoughts run wild. 

But he couldn't upset her, and he couldn't _fight_ her the way he wanted to fight, when he felt this way. He could fight Hungary, though. Like old times- only now he was taller, stronger- perhaps not tall or strong enough- but he'd never let it stop him before. 

He smiled at Hungary, and didn't stop where he should have, outside the danger zone- the marked territory. Instead he crossed the yard to within a few feet of Hungary, and he could feel the other man's proverbial hackles rising just as his own flight reflex was gnawing at him. This was the moment the fox would take off at high speed, into the undergrowth. Perhaps he wasn't a fox. 

"Afternoon," he said, as he always did, because it was funny how so innocuous a word could piss Hungary off as much as anything else. Those field-green eyes burned at him, a colour more of witchcraft than of nature. "You got an appointment too? You'll have to wait your turn." 

It was a little too easy to make veiled suggestions at Austria's expense, for a man who felt something he couldn't even describe for her, but it wasn't for her ears, it was just what he knew would anger Hungary the most, and the fastest. If that was a worrisome mindset, he wasn't especially aware of it. Hungary had already pushed himself off the wall, his muscular arms prominent under his uncovered shirt sleeves; he'd been working, maybe, helping out around the house for no good reason- well, he was bound to be bored. 

"I don't need an appointment," he said, dangerously, and Prussia snorted. 

"I think you do- when was your last one, in the 1650s?" 

He didn't dignify that with an answer, to Prussia's disappointment. "Is she expecting to see you? In one piece, I mean." 

"Ooh, Ungarn, that sounds threatening," Prussia laughed, but his face was dark with malice. "Gonna try and throw me out? She won't be happy, you'll ruin her evening- or, what, you planning on trying to make it up to her? I'm tellin' you, she's not interested- ah, hey, what happened, anyway? She lets _me_ fuck her and I'm not sure she even likes me much, so what the hell'd you do to put her off? Little too rough with her, eh? You've always- " 

He had to stop, to throw himself backwards out of the way of Hungary's sudden lunge, but he was unsuccessful, and got caught by his collar. He grabbed at Hungary's arm instinctively, trying to pull it off, or at least ward off strangulation. "You've _always-_ thrown your weight around, haven't you, Ungarn?! H-Hah- careful, now, this coat was expensive- " 

"You can keep your mouth all the way fucking shut, you son of a bitch," Hungary said, and the calm way he delivered that through his bristling rage was almost comical- Prussia choked out a laugh, then choked for real as Hungary's fist tightened in the navy silk. "You mention her to me one more time. One more time. I'll leave you on her front lawn in pieces. You don't know what the hell you're doing with her." 

Prussia's mind was admittedly one red, blaring alarm at that moment, all his nerves fired up with the desire to either break free or be hit, but in the confusion of his senses he couldn't parse Hungary's words- _you don't know what the hell you're doing with her-_ was that a jealous insult? Why did it sound almost like a warning? He had no more time for puzzles, and barely a second passed before he was kicking out at Hungary, his canines bared in a terrible grin. 

"A-Aww, Ungarn, don't get so fuckin' wound up, I take good care of her- cross my heart- " -he dug his fingers into Hungary's arm and drove the heel of one court shoe into his leg, and managed to wriggle free- " -and you know, I lied, I think she does like me, an awful lot, so don't you worry about it!" 

It was a lie, or at least he wanted it to be a lie- so, that did make him a liar, in the end, but never mind- Hungary looked _almost_ like he was about to control himself again, and that couldn't be allowed. Prussia yanked at his own collar, loosening his cravat where it had tightened to the point of claustrophobia. 

"Just get the fuck out of my sight," Hungary started, twitchy and clutching at his shirt cuffs like he didn't know what to do with them, but Prussia interrupted- strike while the iron's hot, and all that. 

"Yeah, I'd say she's satisfied, Ungarn, so you can relax- maybe you can go home and get back to work on your own- ah..." Prussia paused, entirely for dramatic effect- he was nothing if not an enthusiastic, entirely untalented actor. "Wait...you really signed yourself over to her for good this time, didn't you? Ah, yeah, she'll be making all your decisions now- her and that little queen of hers, hah- so I guess you really have nothing better to do than wander around here tryin' to catch a glimpse of us goin' at i- " 

He saw Hungary almost swell with rage even as he was still speaking, and Prussia had a second to contemplate just how big he was before he slammed into him, shoulder-first- he left all the air in his lungs behind as he crashed to the ground. Dimly there was a sensation of voices- shocked servants, or- wait, there was one clear voice he knew- 

"Preußen- _Ungarn!_ " She had a commanding tone, Austria- where you'd expect a girlish scream of shock, there was only a strong, full sound, angry but controlled. Prussia admired her, distantly, but her appearance triggered a nasty impulse- to win, or to lose so badly that Hungary suffered for it. The latter would be better, he thought, but he couldn't lay still- he thought to take advantage of Hungary's assured distraction, his sudden scrambling away now that Austria was a witness- 

-well, that never happened. 

Hungary's fist smashed into his jaw and left him incandescent with pain, eyes unseeing, there was so much bright light behind them. If he hadn't been far too used to it, he would've given up there and then, but fortunately, he could function even with his head virtually unresponsive. He drove his knee into Hungary's gut, hearing a satisfying gasp of pain, and made to bowl the larger man off him with a sudden explosion of energy- they struggled together, feet in hard shoes leaving vicious gouges, bony fists cracking sickeningly against each other. It was an otherwise pathetic, ill-disciplined fight between two well-trained men; the techniques were proper, but the floor got in the way, the dust got in Prussia's eyes, and blows missed the mark- or didn't, because he was surprisingly good at guessing. 

Now he could hear Austria's voice rising in pitch, at last, and he wondered what he looked like as he smacked his forehead against Hungary's- Hungary's dark waistcoat was covered in the whitish dust of the courtyard, and his sleeves were bloody- from where? Prussia's mouth, yes, that was why it was throbbing, like his gums were ballooning- but to be fair to himself, Hungary's hair had come loose (with a good yank) and there was something wrong with his eye where Prussia's fist had caught it. The pain was incredible, like Hungary was made of stone or something, Prussia's entire body seemed to have checked out of feeling it- no, he definitely felt his temple hit the floor and his spine make a positively gruesome sound as Hungary smashed his elbow into it. Oh, that was terrible. 

He absolutely loved it. He'd hate it when it was over, but the exhilaration was unreal- he knew he wasn't right, somewhere in his little brain, but never mind- he hadn't been so excited in ages. Austria filled him with some kind of urge, passionate and soft and joyous- even when they were rough with each other, it was a world away, a thrill for an entirely different part of his being. This was something else. She could hit him and he'd just want to fuck her. He didn't even know what that was about. This was just violence, and pain, back and forth, no arousal- or- well, now that he'd thought of Austria and her beautiful body- but no, it still wasn't like that. 

Even as he rolled on top of Hungary, legs entwined in a painful lock, trying very hard to knock his teeth out only to be foiled by Hungary's freakish arm strength holding him off- well, he was in a position to press his hips down, though it made his knee scream. He didn't know why he did it or what he was looking for, only that Hungary seemed to respond, and- he used to wrestle for fun with soldiers, before he began to spend most of his time wrestling with Austria- it felt _good,_ somewhere in the pandemonium of pain, and he heard Hungary swear at him in his native tongue. 

"S-Speak German, I can't fuckin' understand you," Prussia panted, a wild laugh overtaking him as he tore his arm out of Hungary's grip and impulsively reached down to grab between his legs; Hungary's reaction was priceless, all his seriousness and anger shocked out of him, to be replaced by wide-eyed wondering. The noise, too, it was hilarious, so out of place, and in his hand Hungary's cock felt more than a little firm- Prussia squeezed, and pressed his hips down hard on Hungary's thigh, relieving for a second the urge to really get his hands on it. Even he had a limit, and he'd catch hell for the liberty he'd already taken. 

"Poroszország- !" It really tickled him, that exclamation. He let Hungary go, about to wriggle away, sharpish- despite the amusement, a hand was still reaching to grab him by the throat, but he couldn't resist another jab. 

" _German,_ I said!" 

" _Preußen!_ " 

They both froze at that, Hungary's hand loosely fisting in the front of Prussia's shirt; they looked around slowly. Austria was at the nearby window- she hadn't even come outside, but she was leaning so far out of the window she looked as though she might topple through it, with her heavy skirts off-balance. Her hands clutched the sill hard enough to turn her knuckles white, though they were hidden under her gloves, and the wrap about her shoulders had half fallen off. She was exquisite, stuffed into that pale purple bodice, her pretty neck decorated with tight rows of pearls, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed with what was either concern or outrage. 

"What in God's name are you both _doing?!_ " she demanded, disgusted- Prussia could tell, but he didn't blame her, Hungary looked fucking terrible, and he felt even worse. He'd come out on top, but he had a strong feeling he was more injured- in fact, the longer they sat there staring at Austria, the more he started to feel like he might just need to lie down. She was still babbling at them, a shriek in her voice, and it rang through Prussia's head painfully. "Ungarn?! What did he do? What have you done?!" 

Prussia opened his mouth to tell her what had happened- that is, tell her that Hungary had tackled him and brutally beaten him for no adequate reason- but something made him pause, and he looked down. Below him, Hungary was in the same silent quandary, one of his eyes starting to swell. Or maybe his mouth was hurting too much to speak, but Prussia preferred to assume they were having the same thought. 

They'd been friends, after all. They'd fought like this- yes, this hard, and this pettily- before, and Prussia had even given him the odd grope before...to embarrass him and gain unfair advantage...not because he wanted to- 

"Tell her," Hungary wheezed, throwing his hands up. Prussia carefully toppled off him to sit on the floor, his head spinning. 

"We're playin', Princess." 

It just didn't have the same appeal anymore, feeding her egregious lies- so he fed her a white one. It wasn't about her poor shocked face or Hungary's dignity or anything like that. Or even some long-buried bond of brotherhood, or- or an understanding out of the blue, that they might despise each other's positions, and think the worse of Austria for playing this messy game, but they didn't have it in them to wilfully destroy her fragile sense of equilibrium. No. Not that. 

" _Playing?_ " she repeated, as if she thought she'd misheard him. Her eyes darted from Prussia to Hungary, screwed up in distaste for their injuries. They were surface-level, nothing much in Prussia's book- a couple of his ribs were cracked, but still. She was a sheltered girl, after all, Austria, not a scar on her, not a mark (he'd searched). He gave her an encouraging smile, blood dribbling down his chin. 

"Yeah, y'know- ah- I know it looks scary," he said, as if she was a child, "but me'n'Ungarn, we're born soldiers, right- we always used to play like this, so, ah- right? Ungarn?" He nudged him in the side, prompting a wince; cracked ribs all around. 

"Yeah..." Slow, and frankly shamefaced, which wasn't a good look for either of them, Hungary sat up- he was red, and couldn't look Austria in the eye. "We used to spar...s-so- f-for old time's sake, since Poroszország doesn't have anything better to do with himself, you know how he is- " 

"Oi." 

Hungary laughed nervously, a ridiculous sound coming from this large, intimidatingly bloodied man, and slapped away Prussia's prompting hand. "Yes, a good clean- a good fight and then on your way, isn't that _right-_ " 

"But I was- " _Expecting you,_ Austria was going to say, but she didn't, and Prussia felt strange as her large, bright eyes bored into his. He wanted to tell her he was still available, but it didn't seem like the right thing to say- rarely did he listen to any voice in his head telling him that, but looking at her pale face, he couldn't do anything else. "You both- you- " 

She was struggling, for some reason; Prussia wondered what was happening in her mind. If she saw through the lie- of course she did, she'd have to be utterly fucking stupid not to, and she was incredibly clever. _Perceptive_ was the word he'd learned for her; dense as a brick when he played games with her, gullible to harmless jokes, but the moment he spoke his feelings with his sighs and slouches and denials, she would read him. At first he'd thought her such a pessimist that it was only coincidence when she correctly assumed the worst of him, but then he'd realised she was reading, reading people like he would read a book, and dissecting them better than his essays could. So what her struggle was, he couldn't tell- he was illiterate compared to her. 

But she seemed to pull herself together, suddenly. She drew herself up, her chest puffed out with offense- oh, how he always liked to see it do that. 

" _Well,_ " she said, in more familiar tones, "if you will behave like scoundrels and children, in _my_ courtyard, then you can just carry on beating each other- _somewhere else._ And should you even venture to think I will still see you afterwards- stop at once, because I shan't." 

It was a very dignified speech, and she capped it off with a scathing look at the both of them before slamming her window shut; through the glass, Prussia heard something like: " _never seen anything so inconsiderate and horrible in all my-_ " -and she was gone. 

Typical. Inconsiderate and horrible _to her,_ not to Hungary- or _him,_ God forbid. Prussia rolled his eyes and spat out a mouthful of blood, feeling dissatisfied. Hungary thumped him on the arm. 

"Ow." 

"You're a fucking disgrace." 

"No, I'm doin' what I always do," he objected, almost managing a smile with his split lip. "I think you'll find _yooou're_ the disgrace, Mister Magyar." 

Hungary seemed to be torn for a second between expressions, aghast and amused, and he ended up just thumping Prussia again, for good measure, he guessed. " _Thanks._ Prick." 

"Welcome, asshole. Jesus, you beat the shit out of me." 

"And I'll do it again," Hungary replied, without much venom; he groaned as he forced himself to his feet. Prussia went the other way, falling sprawled on his back. In his periphery, far out of the firing line, servants muttered and worried; it was just as well they never went anywhere, the story would travel no further than the nearest pub...he hoped. He looked up at Hungary, who was battered, but mobile. Well, lucky him. 

"God, clean yourself up and go home," he said, shaking his head, as if he hadn't been the one to uglify Prussia so. Or maybe he meant it in the moral sense. Never mind, his wounds would heal in a day or so, and then there wouldn't be any outward evidence of a moral failing and he could come back to see Austria. And...give her something. Edible or pretty. That would do. 

"In a minute," he said, waving a hand- his head was thick and heavy. It was bad to sleep on a head wound and bad in general to sleep in courtyards, but it didn't matter to him. Hungary clucked his tongue, but Prussia felt him pause, though he didn't forcibly move him as he was sort of expecting. 

"Listen." 

"Hmmmm?" 

"Don't grab my dick like that. I'm not Polska- " 

"Eh- what?!" That jolted Prussia from his near-unconsciousness, inappropriate memories flooding his addled brain, but Hungary was walking away- slowly and with some trepidation, as he was heading towards the house. _He_ was probably exempted from punitive appointment-cancelling. "I was checkin' you weren't gettin' off on it, bastard- " 

"Fuck you," was the reply, but Hungary paused again where he was sidling around a corner, like Austria would bear down on him with her cane at any second. "Anyway, don't let this happen again. Right?" 

"What, no sparring, Ungarn? We'll get fuckin' rusty," Prussia replied, with a wet chuckle. 

"Not here," Hungary said, letting the words linger, hovering and watching him with that serious face. 

For once, Prussia did some reading. 

"Right, I get it," he said. And he did. 

\- 

It must have been very difficult for Hungary, standing before Austria with a black eye to give her an explanation- she did not normally consider the emotional torment of the penitent, but she appreciated Hungary's willingness to humble himself. As much as she would like to think that he _did_ owe her an apology for brawling at her back door, it would be only out of courtesy; she knew that however she clutched her trembling fingers, she could not grip his feelings or his actions as tightly as she wanted to. It was courteous, then, to accept his regrets with grace, since he offered them so sincerely. 

He had come at once- as soon as he had changed and set himself straight. His injuries were minor, for how visceral the fight had looked to Austria. She was not sheltered- not as much as Prussia would like to think; she had survived sieges and died on the field. She had witnessed men dying in droves, quick and bloody- and women, too, in the gruesome wake of war. What she was _not_ was a fan of violence for violence's sake, at least...not this coarse way men did it. She wasn't above a hard slap or a swift switch for someone who deserved it. But brawling? _Playing?_

This ire was only a screen, however, and a flimsy one. Let them play, if they must- but they weren't. Austria was firmly aware of that as Hungary offered his apologies, without him having to go into detail. 

"I lost my temper," he said, frankly, but Austria held up her hand. She rose from her chair, where she'd been stewing for some time, in a dark and little-used parlour near the kitchens and the servants' quarters. It was old-fashioned and cluttered, poorly-lit by the old windows, and oddly relaxing. She wandered aimlessly towards the unlit fireplace, turning from Hungary. 

"I know you did," she said, without censure. "What did he say?" 

There was silence, before Hungary answered with steadfast honesty. "I'd rather not tell you." 

"I see." Austria peered at a stopped clock on the mantel, thick with dust. "I will assume it was vulgar and slanderous in nature." 

"...That would be...correct," Hungary replied, obviously carefully controlling his desire to describe it himself, in much more colourful language. He didn't go on, and Austria waited. She could feel him growing agitated behind her. 

"You can say what it is you wish to say, Ungarn." 

He let out a long breath. "He's not to be trusted. He enjoys starting fights. He has ulterior motives. He's a disrespectful pig and I can't stand the sight of him." 

Austria's fingers curled in their gloves, her mouth opening only to close again, for she had no answer to that assessment- she couldn't defend Prussia, nor could she wholeheartedly agree with it. It wasn't _wrong,_ but it felt incomplete. And so was the picture he presented to her, she had to remind herself. Hungary wasn't finished, however, and his voice drew her from her thoughts. 

" _But,_ " he said, grinding the word out, like he was steeling himself, "my issues with him shouldn't be your concern. And vice-versa. I won't tolerate him treating you like- " He broke off, his voice beginning to rise hotly, and forced it down again. "But I understand...you do what you need to." 

"What I need to?" Austria turned around, raising her eyebrow, unsure she liked that phrasing. Hungary quickly backtracked. 

"I mean, you have your own- you do what you want with him," he said, gesticulating, and she supposed it was difficult for him to find the words, let alone offer them to her- admitting that she enjoyed Prussia's company, and that he had to let her. "And I will, too- if he provokes me again- but it'll be between us." 

"Not on my property, please," Austria reminded him, softly, and he nodded. 

"No. Of course. I'm sorry you had to see that...but I don't think he'll do that again." The conviction surprised her, Hungary folding his arms and giving her that dark, serious look he seemed to have perfected. 

"Oh?" she prompted, moving back to stand before him and search his face, but he wouldn't say more; perhaps they'd had words. Perhaps _whatever_ unbecoming thing Prussia had said had proved a step too far, even to him. "Then I would ask you not to knock out his teeth again..." 

"Ah- well," Hungary said, rubbing his chin slightly bashfully- it was endearing, even with the terrible black eye. Austria found herself smiling. 

"Unless I ask you to, of course," she said, and Hungary blinked at her- with one eye- before a grin broke over his face in return. He bowed his head- _yes, milady-_ and it brought him close enough for her to gently touch his cheek, where the dark bruises spread. "And, next time, please put up a better fight, or wear a helmet. Your face is terribly marred." 

He wrapped his fingers around Austria's wrist, breathing out a low laugh, and held out his other arm as if in a shrug, a gesture of hopelessness. It felt right to step forward, so she did, and he wrapped that arm around her back, letting her rest her head against his shoulder. The trivial bruising hadn't changed the solid warmth of his body, and neither had their distance. 

\- 

Austria expected Prussia to come crawling back at some point, but she didn't expect the stone thrown at her window one early evening- it made her jump out of her skin, dropping the book she'd been reading in her sitting room. A scowl clouded her features immediately. It wasn't a squirrel throwing nuts, that was certain. 

She crossed to the window, squinting down to the path, and there he was, dressed casually- odd- and carrying a covered dish. His face had mostly healed, as far as she could see, which was just as well for him, because she wasn't in the mood to be reminded of his crimes. Not that she could forget. He lit up at the sight of her, grinning broadly and waving at her. Austria rolled her eyes, and flung open the window. 

"And what are you doing?" she asked, imperious and unimpressed. He smiled wider, if that were possible, holding up his dish. 

"Want some cake?" 

"I beg your pardon," Austria replied, eyeing the dish suspiciously, "but how did you transport a cake from Königsberg? Is it pickled?" 

"Ah- that's- by magic, Princess," he said, hopefully, and when she continued to stare at him, he amended: "I mean- there's so much, uh, sugar, or alcohol or something- " 

"Is that not one of _my_ dishes?" she cut in, pointing helpfully at the white china cover. Prussia looked down at it like he'd never seen it before. 

"Weeell...all right, I'll be a good boy and come clean," he said, his eyebrows significantly raised- obviously this was supposed to be some _best behaviour_ nonsense. This was what passed for an apology, she supposed- dessert with some sketchy story behind it. "I borrowed it! From some kind old ladies in the kitchen on my way through- " 

"The dish?" 

"And the ingredients," he admitted, quite cheerfully. It was as if he'd made a resolution to be truthful. Austria frowned, forgetting for a moment what she'd wanted to shout at him about- namely, the reason he was 'apologising'. 

"You mean to say you made it here? When? I thought you went home, and it has barely been days- you must have turned right around before you even reached your house." 

"Haaah...I did leave...the palace, but the carriage needed a change of horses and the staff needed a meal, y'know," Prussia replied, sort of bouncing in place as he took on a sing-song tone. "And between one thing and another, I hung around, and these kindly aunties of yours wouldn't let me go, in the end- I was coming right back, so it was a waste of time to go home, right? And, you saw the shape I was in, Princess- they wanted to look after me! But I didn't wanna make you more upset with my handsome face all fucked up, so I kept outta your way like a little mouse for a while! But it ain't the same, staying in the servant's rooms, I gotta say." 

Austria's mouth had fallen open at some point during this explanation, her eyes in a disbelieving squint. The man couldn't even get out when he was told to. She drew a breath, ready to bark something at him- she hadn't even decided what- but he held up the cake dish like a shield. 

"Listen, Princess, before you throw a royal fit and have me ejected- that little game with Ungarn, it won't happen again! Cross my heart! We were just messing around, but I'm perceptive, you know- I could see in your face you couldn't bear the sight!" He was smiling eagerly at her, but in the face of her glare, his expression dropped, his mouth twisting uncomfortably. "Ahh, don't look like that- I'll never lay a finger on your pup again- even though he went for me first- " 

"And I don't know what sort of despicable thing you said to make him do so," Austria snapped, clutching her windowsill, "but he gave me his word that you wouldn't make the same mistake twice- so you had better not, Preußen. I have had enough of your juvenile instigation- behave like the kingdom you have been claiming to be for the past three decades!" 

Her voice carried clear and angry over the empty grounds, and Prussia grimaced- he visibly bit back an impulsive counterargument, holding the dish to his chest. 

" _Fine,_ " he said, the corners of his mouth downturned. "I get it- I do! It was just- whatever I said, it was between old friends- men! Just riling each other up because that's how we get along, I guess- if you can call it gettin' along...I guess we've gotta, at least in Vienna- so give me a break, Princess, I get it. I'm tryin'- " 

He cut himself off abruptly, to Austria's surprise. She was growing sick of holding this conversation from three floors up, but it felt important to impress the gravity of her feelings on him before she allowed him back in. It wasn't about his tendency to get into scraps. It wasn't about whether he could get along with Hungary in the slightest- it wasn't even about his respectability as a kingdom under her jurisdiction, though it ought to have been. She wouldn't be a bone to be fought over- she had created this situation, yes, and she was wracked with that knowledge under the indifferent air, but in his privileged position, Prussia certainly had no right to throw his weight around. He had nothing to prove. She was not a trophy, a shiny trinket to belittle someone else with. She hadn't been _won-_ or _stolen._

So many thoughts for so few appropriate words, but Prussia gathered himself before she did. 

"I'm trying to do it right, but, haah...it feels like no one wants me to succeed- did you ever feel like that, Österreich?" 

It took her aback. "Feel like..." She paused, thinking for a fleeting second that he meant _her,_ in the face of what she'd done for him- and, yes, perhaps she wanted to curb his ambitions a touch, but if nothing else, she certainly wanted him to carry himself with the dignity of a kingdom, if he must have the status. But she remembered then, what she had heard from Königsberg, and what the Holy Roman Empire had put on her desk with many a grumble. Ah. 

"...I see the situation has not resolved itself yet." 

"Damn right," Prussia said, ruefully. "It's pissin' me off- both that stubborn brat wanting nothin' to do with m- with his damn inheritance, and then that old fucker making it worse at every turn...y'know I don't know much about being anyone's parent or anyone's kid- not in this day and age, anyhow, hah- but I've never seen a father so fucking eager to chase his heir away. And then have the gall to complain about it!" 

It was no secret that the King in Prussia was loathed by everyone from the lowest scullion to the Emperor himself, but it was rare to hear Prussia make such a direct criticism. Austria sympathised, but she had seen so many generations of imperial megalomania and congenital disaster come and go that she felt he ought to pull himself together a bit. The king would die, the crown prince would get on with it- or he would not, and he had brothers. Still...he was new to this. Brandenburg had managed them when they were just _electors._ Now they were _kings-_ God help them all- and they were using his name. And he was still getting cracked across the shin by old F.W., instead of setting a stern example, as Austria always did. Get them in childhood, tell them your literal existence rests on their shoulders, and relate a few tales about deposed rulers and beheadings. _I will do what you think is right,_ she would tell them, _but I will do what_ they _think is right, if you are wrong._

She sighed. Prussia looked downcast, studying his (her) fine china. 

"Don't stand around in the yard like a fool," she said, hands on her hips through her embroidered lounging-robes. He looked up at her, his face lighting up again. "Come up, if you must- and order coffee, if you are bringing cake." 

\- 

The problem in Prussia grew drastically worse in short order, to the surprise of few- but the culmination of the crown prince's attempt at deserting his country was widely shocking, even to the seasoned Austria. In other courts, it may have been treated as a small-scale scandal, even youthful folly- Austria had seen many an aristocrat flee from one country to another, or disobey their parents. The thing to do in that circumstance was to cover it up as quickly as possible. Not to imprison your son and heir with the threat of execution dangling over his head. 

One young man had lost his head already, and in turn Brandenburg rather lost his, finally cracking, no doubt, under years of stress; Prussia, without recourse, was left frantic, while the Holy Roman Empire was ready to crucify _them_ for such a catastrophic lack of royal dignity, or sanity as the case may have been. Austria had to put her foot down. 

"Go home and _do_ something about this!" she had barked at Prussia, who was not doing much of anything but howling about his misfortunes in her offices. He had practically fallen on the floor before her, pulling at his hair. 

"What the fuck am I supposed to do, stage a jailbreak?! Lock the king in the fuckin' attic til it blows over?! Jesus Christ! Ain't there some- fuckin'- Empire bullshit for this kind of thing?! _You're_ supposed to be the boss above the boss!" 

"So now you acknowledge it!" She was exasperated, but there was nothing for it; they clearly did need a reminder. "Very well. Must I do _everything_ myself around here?" 

\- 

Being in Austria's debt, to the tune of one crown prince still upon this mortal coil, was not Prussia's ideal state of affairs; at first he'd been immeasurably grateful- and spoiled her accordingly, but then it sank in. Not only had his royal family embarrassed him as if it was their mission in this world, but _Austria,_ who he already strongly suspected of not taking him remotely seriously, had had to swoop in and fix it. And it was hardly a magical fix, young Fritz was merely alive, not suddenly overjoyed to fulfill his role of King in Prussia one day. And his father was still an irascible maniac. Prussia couldn't blame Austria for any of that, though. 

No, she'd been good enough to help him- and remind him of his position. The foolishness of picking fights in her courtyard paled in comparison to letting her see how ill-equipped he apparently was to run his own kingdom. Oh, yes, there was Brandenburg, there'd always been Brandenburg, technically in charge, but if you asked Prussia, he was giving up. And it would have suited him, that arrangement- big brother taking well-deserved retirement and letting him take the reins- if it hadn't then hit him that big brother would no longer have ultimate responsibility. That the buck would stop with _him,_ and _he_ would be answerable to the lovely Austria and the pompous, pint-sized dictator she kept around. The thought galled him- he never did take well to being scrutinised and corrected. Call it childhood trauma. 

The possibility of it throwing a wrench into his personal relationship with her came a distant second, because he wasn't one to grasp that sort of reality until it hit him in the face, and besides, she surprisingly _wasn't_ making his life difficult of late. Even in the wake of his sordid internal affairs, she wasn't lording his debt over him. Rather, she was pestering him about Poland. It was quite a reversal from his usual naggi- _negotiating_ with her, he had to say. 

The thing was, when Austria was in a pestering mood, and simply snapping her fingers in front of his face and going on about didn't get him to work fast enough for her liking, she tended to do something else. 

They'd been in her bedroom all day. In her bed, in fact. It wasn't the first time, and Prussia knew full well his strictly-disciplined body would protest later, but his less-disciplined mind was all for it. Between rounds, snacks; between snacks, conversation, some casual, some political, though in his lingering depression about the prince, he was less receptive than she would have liked. Sometimes, after they made love, she would tiredly lay herself across him and let him pet her, in cosy silence...it was a wistful thought, because now she wouldn't shut up. 

He'd buried his face in a pillow at her last insistence on chit-chat about Russia or something, making a vague mumbling in response, and she'd gone off in a huff to take a bath, the tub thoughtfully prepared by her bedroom fireplace well in advance. Prussia had contented himself to face-down brooding- or possibly napping- only aroused when she returned and prodded his naked buttocks, ordering him to take advantage of the hot water himself. He'd complied with a grumble, but he had to admit, there was something to be said for a nice soak, in the hazy warmth of Austria's rooms. She kept it perfumed, exotic scents rising and drifting over the surface of the water, while the soft colours of her wallpaper were soothing to the eyes. There was fabric everywhere, whether delicate petticoats draped over chairs, or a soft woollen blanket fallen from the bed; it was something of a sensory experience, being in her inner sanctum. 

It was oddly quiet, too, he could only hear the faint rustle of Austria moving around behind him, pawing through her things. There was a tinkle of jewellery, and he shifted himself around to see what she was up to. 

She hadn't dressed. At the sound of rippling water she turned, from where she was bent over her dressing table, and raised her eyebrow at him; it was like he just forgot about her earlier whining. She posed, one leg slightly in front of the other, her head with all its damp fluffy tresses held high, her fingers brushing her hip, and Prussia let his eyes wander up and down with a fond smile. There were dark beauty spots in-between her thighs, that he'd become acquainted with; he fancied he could detect the faint presence of green veins under the skin of her breasts and her arms even at a distance, he knew them so well. There was a plumpness to her that he liked, her belly rounded and her hips considerably wide, it seemed feminine and cosseted. It pleased him, for some reason, he of malnutrition and deprivation. Formerly, he had to stress. 

"What do you think?" Austria asked, breaking him suddenly from his reverie. 

"What do I think? Fuckin' beautiful," he replied, cheerfully. She tilted her head. 

"You like garnets?" 

"Eh? What do I like?" 

"Idiot," she said, rolling her eyes, which she did so nicely. "My necklace. They call it a _rivière._ Do you like it?" 

"Ohh..." He hadn't even seen it, but now that he looked, she was wearing- oh, about the price of very fine sword, in deep pink-red stones set evenly around her neck, one large gem hanging as a pendant. They were set, as far as he could tell, in gold, with little sparkles here and there that may have been miniscule diamonds. It did complement her dark locks. "Yeah, stunning, amazing...who bought you that?" 

"It was a gift from Sachsen," she said, looking slightly smug as she fished something else from the chaos of many opened parures and jewellery boxes on her dressing table. "They have just had a baby, and he has not forgotten how I helped that house improve their fortunes...now look at these, aren't they attractive?" 

She slipped a matching pair of golden bangles on, very smooth and round and decorated with prominent pink and white stones. Prussia nodded along, thinking about what she'd said, and watching the way she moved her slender wrists around in front of her lower abdomen. "That house? Ah- that's Polen's king. Didn't think he'd bother celebrating the birth of another of his hundreds of bastards- " 

"Not him, you fool, his son- and _my_ Josepha," Austria informed him, admiring her bangles, her body moving like a dancer's with subtle grace. "His father is on death's door- as you well know, I have been telling you repeatedly that the situation in Polen's house is- " 

"Ah, ah- your little Josepha! But haven't you cut her out of the will in favour of your new favourite little princess?" Prussia interrupted, grinning. At this point, he was just teasing her. He didn't even object to going along with her plans to keep the Saxon electors off (or was it on?) the Polish throne, he'd sign whatever little contract she was pushing at him, whatever. She just wanted him on side, in his opinion. He and Saxony had a few things in common, such as contempt for the Catholic church. Austria never liked to see them sit together at dinners. 

"I cut her out of the will the moment she was married to a Saxon," Austria replied, matter of fact. "Theresia will marry more appropriately for the station she is to assume...now are you going to listen to me? It is very important." 

Prussia leaned back in the bathtub, his wet hair dragging down the side, and gave her a sidelong smile. "Maybe. Ahh, all this doting over your little future God-Empress or whatever you want her to be is makin' me jealous...my kid is busy having fuckin' traumatic flashbacks- " 

"I am not surprised," Austria snorted, lifting a dazzling silvery-pink robe from some corner it had languished in since she last took it off; it seemed to be patterned after the fashions of the East, with a confusing array of shapes, almost like chandelier lights. She slipped it on without closing it. "Be grateful you have a son! And spares," she added, as an afterthought. 

Prussia chuckled, flicking water in her direction as she modeled her robe for him. "Thought you loved having a queen in the making. You've put all this effort into it." 

"Out of necessity," she said, frowning for a moment, before searching in a drawer. "I am fond of the child. I would have her receive her rightful inheritance, but I cannot pretend it would not have been easier if her brother had survived. For her mother, above all...the woman has spent her life exhausting herself over this." 

She sighed, and Prussia watched her, interestedly. They were a little removed from this sort of human experience. No one had ever stopped Austria from being what she was, because they couldn't. It was poetically strange, that the refined Austrians had this lovely creature to champion, just as they now had an imperial daughter, while he, Prussia, was surrounded by militaristic patriarchs. It was the sort of thing he should probably not comment on, raised in the worst excesses of masculinity, but duty-bound to female citizens just as to the men. What _could_ they say, either of them? It wasn't their place. 

"Well," he finally said, as Austria sat at her dressing table to pull on a pair of blue stockings, "she'll do a better job of advertisin' what you're all about than a string of old geezers do." 

She laughed softly, slowly drawing the delicate things up her legs- Prussia's eyes were glued to them- before tying the ribbon garters in pretty bows. "They were all young once. But I think you are quite right. I think I shall enjoy it. When a smooth transition is made, and I may rest in peace. What do you think of these?" 

Prussia was no longer entirely listening to her musings, staring at the way her garters pinched her soft thighs just above the knee, just a little. "Come closer'n' I'll tell you- _golly,_ Princess, is that a flower? Or a star? I can't quite tell from here, hah- " 

Austria rolled her eyes, with a smile this time, and duly prowled towards him, the silver embroidery that crept up her legs shining like every other part of her delightful ensemble. She pointed her toe towards Prussia, and he grabbed her foot with damp hands, testing her balance as he lifted it to get a good look; to her credit, she kept her posture, looking down on him with lidded eyes and upturned lips. Her foot was poised and small in his hands, and he slid his fingers up the back of her calf, feeling the texture of thread, the twitch of muscles, his eyes roving the path up her body he'd like to take. But she pulled away from him, carefully, and gave him a _look,_ before turning her back on him- her swiftly bared back, her pretty robe dropping in a great whispering sheet to the ground, to be neglected there for another month. The water was growing colder and Prussia was growing warmer. Time to get out. 

She lounged on her bed, waiting for him; he stood in a trickle of many rivers over his marble landscape, brushing his hair out of his face- just to show himself off a little in fair payment, firm biceps and broad chest, tapering to a taut, trim waist. There were always a few training bruises and the ever-present scars, but he looked as rosy and fresh as he could, nothing grievous to spoil Austria's view today. He smiled at her in the lazy, appraising way he often did, like a grudging fondness overtook him with every look, for everything that she was- an insufferable, oppressive, entitled, inflexible tyrant. She did it beautifully, her affection and desire genuine, her manipulations unashamed. 

That was what really appealed to him, he thought, as he crawled to her on the bed, warm and damp against her cool skin. There were layers and layers of etiquette and propriety and shame to Austria, like the layers of her clothing, but the basest parts of her character she showed to him unhesitatingly, all naked want. Avarice, gluttony, lust, sloth- wrath on a bad day- he hadn't given her an opportunity to display her envy, but he'd bet on her _correcting_ him if he thought to stray, the little hypocrite. And then there was _pride,_ his favourite. She gleamed with it, and why shouldn't she? So some lesser states got on their high horses about it. They'd do the same in her position. _He_ would. Resent the Empire- by all means- but not for _moral_ reasons. 

It wasn't what she needed, a judgemental voice in her ear. Better his whispered praises, as his fingers danced down her belly, and his tongue tasted sweet rosewater. Best to keep her sweet- he told himself- then it could be tit-for-tat, in here or out there- perhaps it wasn't good to flatter the high-and-mighty, perhaps he'd regret it, but he was special to her, wasn't he? She needed him- Poland, she kept saying, and yes, he'd do that for her, and then she'd give him the things he wanted. Land and titles, trifles to her. She liked to put him off, but she'd give in to that give-and-take, because he played by her rules. He understood her. Probably. 

"You have put up a valiant showing today," she was saying, amused at her own remark, her voice like hot chocolate down Prussia's throat. And he didn't even have much of a sweet tooth. She wrapped her hand around his growing erection, giving him a jolt, a reminder of how much more _accommodating_ her body was than his to these lazy days. He could have given her a run for her money, pinned her down with merciless pleasure, but he was weak, she had the upper hand. Hands. 

"I can go all night if you can, Princess," he lied, with a cheeky grin, his hips pressing up to her firm, slow caress. _I don't believe you,_ her eyes said, and she kissed him deeply, mockingly, leisurely while her clever fingers worked. Prussia grabbed at her hips, broke from her with a gravelly sigh to apply his mouth hastily to her shoulder, her chest, sucking hard at her nipples; it drew a pleasing sound from her, but she fought him for the privilege, kissing his neck hard, and eventually he conceded. "H-Haah...you got your energy back, did you- ?" 

"Now, Preußen," Austria said, her lips vibrating against his chest as she pushed him to sit back- the tone of her voice indicating she wasn't listening to him, but she was playing with him, as he'd played with her earlier. Tit-for-tat. "If you need to recuperate, I perfectly understand." 

"Recuperate," he repeated, like an idiot, watching and feeling her leave a wet trail down his abdomen, the flicker of her pink tongue endearingly feline. She rearranged herself on the bed, slowly having to stretch out her legs, her hair everywhere, her ass irresistable- Prussia reached out to grab it, but he jumped at the sudden feel of her breath on his cock, and snatched up a pillow instead. 

He dropped it on the floor, and Austria- with a _poke_ to his navel to make him squirm, as if she couldn't let him have anything- gracefully slid off the bed to kneel on it, her legs splayed in their bright stockings. Her bangles were cold against his thighs, and he stroked her hair out of her face, idly wondering if she had a tiara in that mess of jewels on her dressing table. It was fun when she did this- not for the obvious reason- but for the expressions she made, wide-eyed like she'd never done it before, _judgemental,_ almost, when she saw him enjoying himself. All dark, sharp eyebrows, pink cheeks and exploratory tongue on a foreign delicacy she wasn't _sure_ about. 

"Oi, Princess," Prussia said, while she had her mouth full and couldn't stop him, "remember what I taught you- flex your tongue 'round the head- n-nice and wet, then down a little, nice open mouth- ngh- !" 

"I _know,_ " she pulled away to say, her fingers tightening sharply around his base, but she went back down. She _didn't_ know, she was doing whatever she wanted, slow and erratic, and Prussia considered himself an expert, but it was pointless arguing. It felt good even if it kept him guessing, on the edge of his seat- literally, with his toes _en pointe_ in her rug- and a warm haze fell on him, his eyes half-closed. He was even less able to keep his mouth shut like this. 

"H-Hah, listen, about Polen- you got my attention- " He grinned as her eyes swivelled up to him, but he couldn't keep it up, not with her looking like that, and his chest began to shudder with his breathing. "Ah, I guess I'll go along with it- w-what was it, kicking Sachsen's ass? N-No? Well, if it ain't that, m-maybe- m-maybe I'll have to sit it oUT- AH- Princess, teeth- we talked about _teeth- !!_ " 

Prussia breathed out a great, shaky sigh, gently pushing Austria's head down just so he didn't have to look so directly at her very smug eyebrows- besides, the little bit of terror made it feel even better, and she was being very kind otherwise, stroking him while she took him deep, indulgently. He lived for risk. 

"I was kidding," he said, raspily, because too much risk can kill you. "Ahh, Princess, you've got it- f-fuck- y-you're really coming along, a couple more lessons and you could do this for a livi- " 

Her hand shot up from nowhere to grip his jaw and clamp down hard on his mouth, while the other mercilessly worked him, her soft, warm, wet attentions inviting him to let go; despite the sudden mess he made of her, he'd never felt so _put in his place_ by pleasure. 

"Ungarn once got it in my hair," she said, as she sat next to his panting form on the bed, demurely dabbing at her breasts with a handkerchief. "He was unmanageable." 

Prussia squinted at her where he lay, flushed and useless, but he supposed he deserved that sort of unsporting remark. He opened his mouth, but Austria was leaning over to her bedside table, to pick up something glittery out of the mass of clutter. 

"Come," she said, sitting up and placing the tiara on her head, amusingly askew. She kicked the pillow on the floor, and leaned back on her hands, legs primly spread- if that was a _thing._ Prussia looked her over, his chest still heaving, and grinned, before doing what he was told. 

\- 

The Polish king died, and suddenly there were armies quietly standing around on virtually every corner. It didn't take long for yet another petty dispute- they'd prefer to call it a succession crisis- to dissolve into hostilities. 

Austria had travelled to Poland, leaving the Rhineland in the capable hands of her greatest generals- and Hungary, with his still-impressive cavalry- but she was beginning to regret it. Not only was she hearing of the atrociously impudent movements of the French in her absence, with England and the Netherlands staunchly looking the other way instead of assisting, but Spain was apparently attempting to abduct _her_ Italy again, because she just couldn't leave well enough alone. Then there was the fact that Russia had made her presence in Poland superfluous- he had _walked_ in, with tens of thousands of soldiers (and Saxony) trailing in his wake, just to idle threateningly around Warsaw until the rival they were trying to depose starting dressing as a peasant and running for his life. 

Then there was the food. 

They were sitting around in some unoccupied house in Danzig, and it would have been a tent and an open fire if Austria hadn't put her foot down. She, Prussia- who she'd brought along to keep him well out of the way of France, lest he get picked up like some unfortunate boy wandering in a red-light district- Poland, who was one big shrug at the moment, what with her Diet split down the middle, and Lithuania, who couldn't exchange two civil words with Prussia. They were eating...soup, full of mysterious meats and what looked like an entire cabbage. 

Austria, sitting properly at the kitchen table, gloomily played around with her spoon, watching the other diners. Prussia and Poland were engaged in enthusiastic consumption and equally enthusiastic conversation, though whether they were arguing or having fun, Austria couldn't tell, her Polish being underdeveloped. He was surprisingly gifted with languages, Prussia, despite the state of his native German. They were sitting on chairs by the warm stove, making a mess of the place as they helped themselves to seconds, and ripped up a loaf of sourdough bread. It wasn't sweet enough for Austria's taste. 

Lithuania was outside, Austria could see her leaning against the window, looking perpetually aggrieved. She attacked a piece of bread with her teeth like some starved wolf, though her hair was neatly braided and her masculine military wear was rather dapper. She was an odd character, almost grim, and more invested in Austria's goal than Poland herself- well, they did share a household, and Austria supposed someone had to have some sense. This _kingship by election_ was a curious vice of those east of Vienna. The proper thing to do was have every monarch put forward his son as extremely electable, of course. 

Or his daughter, naturally. 

Still, Austria gave the philandering, fox-tossing old bastard his due, he had tried exactly that before his death. These nobles in the Diet were a plague. 

"Austria," Poland suddenly said, and she blinked herself out of her brooding. "If you don't eat it he will, y'know." 

"'eah, ea' ub," Prussia said, with his mouth full, and Austria stared at him until he closed it and chewed properly. "Thought you liked sauerkraut, I fuckin' love this stuff- AH- don't take all the beef, you piglet, trade me for the sausage- " 

"Uhhh, NO. Beef is expensive," Poland said, fending him off with her spoon, until the two engaged in some sort of spoon-duel. Austria watched, unimpressed, and eventually pushed her bowl across the table. 

"You can have it, if you enjoy it so much," she said, rolling her eyes. "Perhaps there will be a pig's foot in there somewhere for you- " 

"Don't make fun of my _bigos,_ it's good for you," Poland said, as Prussia swiped Austria's serving. "I dunno what you expect, anyway, while all the supply lines are held up. Like, I can't import all the fancy stuff right now, I kinda have a crisis here?" 

"You should eat somethin' plain now and again, Princess, it'll keep you humble," said Prussia, who seemed more content with what he was eating than he ever had at Austria's table, happily digging in with his left hand, a touch clumsy to her eyes; he had developed a degree of ambidexterity, in a master-of-none sort of way. "Anyway you better eat, don't know when we'll need to move off again, right?" 

"I will wait until we have better lodgings, thank you. As soon as I have news of some progress with the fugitive Stanislaus, I must return posthaste, before Frankreich destroys half of my empire." Austria looked anxiously towards the window as she spoke, growing more and more unable to bear the inactivity. Lithuania had disappeared. 

"Ahh, don't worry so much about it," Prussia said, dismissively, while Poland sifted through the stew pot with a ladle. "My little brat is down there to keep ol' Eugen from forgetting where he left his army, they'll be fine- " 

"Prince Eugen is a military mind of unmatched calibre," Austria snapped; after the great victory over Ottoman at Zenta, she would never allow a bad word to be said about the steadfast, elderly Prince of Savoy. "And that boy of yours is only in attendance to escape his bride, by all accounts!" 

"Sounds right for Prusy," Poland opined, looking in a cupboard now. Prussia pinched her. 

"Shut up- he's better off back in the army than chained up in a library like he has been, _or_ fuckin' around with some woman- I mean, if he wanted to, that would be one thing..." Prussia stacked the now-empty bowls, ruffling up his own hair in exasperation. The Prussian crown prince's predilections were fairly well-known. Apparently the young man had contemplated suicide before his wedding, which was always a good omen. "Oi, if you'd let him marry your princess like he wanted to we coulda spared some more troops, maybe, hmm?" 

"As ever, your thinking is that of a simpleton," Austria replied, resting her chin on her hand and giving Prussia a cool look. "Would he have converted? Renounced all claims to his father's holdings? Stood for _Emperor-_ and had the pull to be elected? And then, what on earth would he have done with my empire? And I don't know what your troops have to do with it, because he most certainly would not have any allegiance to you anymore." 

"She's got it all worked out," Poland said, with a mocking grin to Prussia. "But I bet you just thought 'hey, I'll get all her stuff', right? Or I dunno, maybe you're itching to settle down in an Austrian-Prussian Commonwealth- " 

"Would you fuck off?! Not everyone wants to be in a fuckin' commonwealth! 'The hell are you eating now?" Prussia, red-faced, pounced on Poland, trying to pry whatever she'd found in the cupboard out of her hands, only to be kicked by unshod feet. "Ugh- alright, so it was a stupid fuckin' idea, but it was a step up from trying to retire in the countryside with half a dozen pageboys. He's pissed as hell about this woman, better he takes out on Frankreich than her, or my fucking house." 

He fell back in his chair with a grumble, playing with his lips. Brandenburg had, in a fit of pique at having his nominal control continually overridden, handed over decision-making to the entirely unprepared Prussia, and now he was caught between trying to exercise that freedom and learn the limits he had never before respected. Royal weddings, it transpired, could not be freely arranged, nor could he just pick the most eligible bachelorette in the entirety of Europe and expect it to happen. Austria- through Prince Eugen, and again through one Ambassador von Seckendorff, a capital meddler- had pulled rather a few strings there, and Prussia knew it. 

Still, it was a briefly interesting thought, his foolish ambition- uniting somehow, that well-oiled military machine coming directly under her auspices. And so much scattered territory would have increased her reach even further. They might have been great together, great and terrible, if the world had somehow reshaped itself to let them. 

And then there was the personal aspect, but she didn't think Prussia had ever even thought that far. It hardly mattered. The archduchess would probably marry the Lorraine boy, as she wished to. Was it a kindness, to allow her to grow up alongside him and fall in love with him, or was it a sort of brainwashing? It certainly would be cruel at this point to marry her to the scandalous crown prince of Prussia- Austria would have been surprised to hear he had even consummated his marriage. And _that_ sort of behaviour would be disastrous for the already half-dead Habsburg line. 

They didn't need to marry, anyway- she and Prussia. They already did whatever they wanted. It would spoil the appeal, really. 

"Want one?" Poland offered, reaching over, and Austria's attention snapped back to her from Prussia; there was a jam dumpling in her hand, rather sticky and of suspect provenance. Austria immediately took it anyway, and Prussia looked around in outrage. 

"Oi- you're handing them out to her?! Gimme one, you brat- !" 

As they wrestled each other off their chairs, and just as Austria had stuffed the entire thing in her mouth, Lithuania slammed the door open, and they all froze to look at her. 

"He's gone. They've surrendered to Rusija, but Stanislovas flew the coop again," she said, and then she looked around at the sticky scene unfolding before her. "What are you _doing?_ " 

Austria waved a hand frantically, and Prussia translated for her. "Leavin'! Thanks for the message, Litauen, now move ten yards from the door so I know you won't stab me on my way out- " 

"I'll stand a hundred miles away if it means you'll get out of my house," Lithuania retorted; Austria was strangely reminded of Hungary. Prussia got up, hauling Poland after him by her jammy hand, which she wiped on his shirt sleeve. At Lithuania's clucking tongue, they let go of each other, but Poland gave him a teasing smile, and he stuck his tongue out at her. 

"Bye-bye, Prusy." 

"Yeah, yeah, seeya. Ready, Princess?" he asked, shrugging on his jacket, and slinging his swordbelt over his shoulder (where was his Prussian discipline?). "Let's stop for a pint on the way- " 

"Let's not," said Lithuania, gesturing to the door rather rudely, and Prussia mocked her voice under his breath as he passed, accidentally-on-purpose shoving her- to which she responded with a kick to his ankle. Austria watched him swear and trip up the path outside, finally swallowing her dumpling, and dabbing at her mouth with a silk handkerchief from the confines of her velvet travelling coat. She was overdressed for this place. 

"Well, I wish you all success with restoring civility around here. I hope to bring a swift end to this nonsense elsewhere." She put on her gloves, and stepped towards the door, pausing awkwardly for that moment of parting small-talk she felt was expected from her. "Do contact us if further problems arise. We will be paying close attention, naturally." 

"Good luck with all that," said Poland, strolling to the door with her, and holding up her sticky fingers in lieu of any parting touch. That was for the best, as Austria had still not quite gotten over her emotional outburst after the siege in Vienna some time before. She would rather Poland pretend it hadn't happened. Lithuania, on the other hand, offered a handshake, which Austria received graciously. 

"Thanks for your support," she said, simply. 

"Quite all right," Austria said, and she left with a nod, collecting Prussia at the gate. Poland waved them off, and Lithuania's firm green stare watched them all the way to their carriage. There was something fortifying in it, like someone had distilled all the longevity of the deep forests of the world into a tonic for the heart. 

\- 

Summer passed with sieges and the creeping presence of France along the Rhine, Austria's ire growing with each new loss; though she held Prince Eugen in high esteem, she began to wonder if he would even _survive_ these campaigns, with his failing strength. In Italy, at least, despite the ignominy of her former wife trying to take pieces of the child out from under her nose, it had transpired that Spain and France could not get along so well after all, and they were contributing to their own failures; that was satisfying. 

More satisfying still was Russia kindly coming to her aid, her armies swelling steadily, until the time drew near to strike back. 

It was somewhere on the banks of the Rhine, as autumn stained the trees and fields around them, that Austria could finally look France in the face with a sharp smile- which of course the brazen hussy readily returned. Despite the fact that she was currently sitting in a chair as an effective prisoner, Hungary lurking behind her with his hand on the hilt of his sabre. 

"Well, well," she said, her voice as honey-golden as her hair, which was mussed, but still holding its shape in an entirely unfitting pompadour; she came to war well-dressed, just as Austria did, but it was pleasing to note that her bright blue and red travelling ensemble was looking a bit dirty by now. Even her lips were still painted. "You've arrived, my dear! I haven't seen you in so long, it's so hard to get an appointment when you are not a little German province." 

"I'm not a province," Prussia said, instantly, and Austria glared at him for speaking before her. Her glare alone did not quite do it, but when Hungary- fresh from the battlefield, rather handsomely so- and even _France_ joined in, Prussia seemed to get the message, twiddling his thumbs behind his back. 

"It is hard to schedule a meeting with someone who moves from town to town each day, all the way up the Rhine," Austria said, raising a finely-arched eyebrow. Her makeup was impeccable, her dark hair arranged in high curls with a little glimmering fascinator, and she was wearing the most splendid indigo gown she could find, all for this special occasion of ejecting France from her territory. Prussia had complimented her- it was the sort of thing he would do, she thought- and she could see France's gaze taking it all in with a mixture of appreciation and loathing. 

"Yes, well," France replied, folding her hands in her lap like she wasn't currently a prisoner of war. "I've been very busy here and there, you know how it is- ah, I was seeing to Italie, just recently, she has grown tremendously, has she not?" 

Austria paused. 

"She?" 

"Yeees..." said France, patiently; behind her, Hungary rubbed his eyes, though Austria didn't see any reason for him to look so troubled. So she had sometimes had difficulty recalling which Italy was which, it hardly _mattered._

"Which Italien precisely are you talking about, Frankreich?" 

"Why, the one Espagne was so keen to take," she said, and Austria bristled. "Are you telling me you've been so preoccupied that you weren't even sure where we _were?_ I know you struggle with directions, but- " 

"Be silent," Austria snapped. "I know perfectly well you were in Milan. But you travelled all the way down to Naples. Ergo both of those children are in question." 

"Well, somethin' about 'em's in question if you don't know whether they're girls or boys- " Prussia began, as if he absolutely had to be part of the conversation, but Hungary cut across him. 

"Shut up, Poroszország. The northern one is a girl, Ausztria- " 

"Practically a young _woman,_ now," France drawled. 

" _Yes,_ thank you, everyone," Austria said, breathing hard through her nose; Hungary and Prussia began to bicker in low tones. "Regardless of their personal status, they belong with me, and not with Spanien _or_ you. I notice you cannot even agree long enough to make the simplest of tactical decisions. Perhaps regret is setting in?" 

"Regret? For leaving you, my darling?" 

"For throwing in her lot with you, rather." 

France merely smiled, and looked up to where Hungary was about to leave his post and take Prussia with him, perhaps down to the river-bed. "Hongrie, you're supposed to be guarding me." 

"Don't I know it," he said, giving Austria the look of a man at the end of his patience, but he returned to his position, using his sword to prop himself up now. He looked tired of France, but otherwise vigorous; he had been quite an asset in this battle. 

Unlike some people Austria could mention. As if he was trying to mirror Hungary, Prussia was hovering behind her, but rather than keep professional posture, he leaned on her shoulder. She could see him picking at his teeth from the corner of her eye, and leering at France, who duly leered back. It was never a good idea to have Prussia and France in the same space, but he had insisted on coming along. For fun, it seemed. 

"Ungarn, you have performed admirably in keeping our guest here at bay," Austria said, just to make a point, and sure enough, Prussia gave her a moody look, which she ignored. Hungary nodded, the brass on the front of his dark uniform still clean enough to shine with the movement. 

"It wasn't too challenging," he said, blithely, "until we caught her, that is." 

"Oh, Hongrie, you are a card," France said, laughing, though she was a little shrill in Austria's opinion. "We've had a wonderful time here without you, Autriche, but I suppose you've had plenty of company yourself." 

She was eyeing Prussia with considerable amusement, and considerable venom. He laughed, a nasty sound in Austria's ear. 

"Yeah, she's had me for company, Frankreich, and I've _given_ her a company of soldiers to kick your overdressed ass back down to the gutter where you belong," he said, smugly- far too smugly, considering he'd sent the minimum that he could spare, and the whole thing seemed like nothing so much as an educational exercise for his crown prince. "'The fuck are you wearin', you trying to get mistaken for a lady? They'll take you for a camp follower with plenty of clients, if anything- " 

"Thank you, Preußen," Austria cut in, sternly, smacking his arm from her shoulder; he gave her an extremely put-out, almost betrayed look, and with a dramatic sigh he threw up his hands, rolled his eyes and began to pace around, kicking at the dirt. Austria had really had enough. "Oh, for heaven's sake, stop acting like a child." 

"Yes, please do, it's painful to watch," France added, prompting a rather vicious kick that sent loose stones rolling. "Autriche, dear, is this the sort of company you want to parade around in public? Don't you think it's a touch embarrassing, Hongrie?" 

"I don't think we need your opinion, Franciaország- " 

"Damn right we don't need some fuckin' over-the-hill whore's opinion on what's embarrassin', _especially_ not when she just fucking lost- !" 

" _-but now that you mention it,_ " Hungary went on, over Prussia's foul-mouthed tirade, "I do think it's pretty embarrassing for a fairweather ally to come and gloat after battles he hardly took part in, lower the tone of a serious meeting, and conveniently ignore the fact that he practically aided the enemy!" 

"I did NOT!" Prussia snapped, whirling around again, incensed and red now. "I wasn't under any obligation to stop that guy! Staniswhatever! He was just passin' through- I'm NOT gonna invite _her_ fuckin' troops into my house by keepin' him there! I didn't even sign the fuckin' treaty- " 

"We are well aware," Austria hissed, seething by now. It struck her, how eager he was to please her in private, and how quickly that fell apart when almost anyone else was around, as if he couldn't control himself. As if he treated her with special care, but simply acted like a degenerate otherwise. It wasn't as flattering as it was apparently meant to be. "Your indecisiveness is not news to me, Preußen, but what's done is done, now please do _shut up._ " 

"What?! Listen- oi, I thought we talked about this, it's not that big of a deal," he began, catching on to her deep irritation but determined not to be in the wrong. Austria took a deep breath, avoiding his eyes entirely, in favour of looking ahead at France; she was smiling, enjoying this domestic spat. Her alliance with Prussia was too fragile, Austria knew, now that she looked France in the eye. All personal feeling aside. A liability. It was dangerous. 

She held up her hand to Prussia's continued protests. 

"Not another word, or you can leave. Don't interrupt me again." 

"Oh, my," said France, _sotte voce_ but too loud, as she watched the embarrassing spectacle unfold- a physical distance appearing between Austria and Prussia, his face both angry and hurt, though he had no right to be, while hers was quietly furious. "She is impressive when she puts her foot down, isn't she?" 

\- 

There would be a wait, until all treaties and agreements could be formalised; they were waiting, to be blunt, for some old man to die, and thus be out of the way of all the territory-swapping they were about to do, but that wasn't important. Peace fell in the meantime, and with it, scheming. It was time to put in requests and make quiet deals, time for hated enemies to settle down and appease each other. 

France could have Lorraine, if she wanted it so much- it was novel, almost, to press the future husband of an archduchess to give up his inheritance, rather than send Austria's own daughters away to be Austrian no more. It was payment, like that centuries-long parade of Habsburg brides, a sacrifice to ensure _his_ bride's status. A sacrifice he was to be heavily compensated for, it had to be said. 

Poland had the _right_ king, and now she and Lithuania could do whatever they wanted in their own lands- or whatever Russia wanted, that wasn't Austria's business. Parts of Italy had been traded for other parts. Austria knew the value of each city better than she knew which child was which. 

She sat in her office, which was clean and tidy, proof that she rarely set foot in it; on the shelves around the walls, however, there were many great leather binders and stacks of papers, an overwhelming amount of records. Ownership, marriage, titles, the lineage of her empire. Austria tended not to touch those, either, unless it was to add an important note to herself- she kept such knowledge in her head, as a matter of course. It was a strange room, that office, smaller than Austria liked her rooms to be- she used other, more impressive offices to receive visitors, but this one was off-limits. Yet there was no special air of secrecy about it, it was just another room that blended in, in the great halls of the Hofburg. Much like she did. 

That meant that there was nothing stopping anyone from knowing where it was, if they generally knew where she was. 

Austria slipped a piece of paper into an envelope, and held a stick of red wax over a candle, her signet ring glinting on her finger. But a faint noise outside the door caught her attention, her body stiffening instinctively; the wax fell to the table, three slow, ruby drops. 

"Yes?" she said, and the door creaked open by degrees, Prussia slipping his fingers through the gap and waggling them at her, before his face followed, wedged in. 

"Mornin', Princess," he said, his voice low and cautious. There was an air of contrition about him. They had not entirely seen eye-to-eye of late, with her attention sharply focused elsewhere- the Emperor's increasing age, the questionable readiness of the young archduchess to succeed him, and the equally questionable readiness of Europe to witness her do so. They'd agreed, all of them, all of them. She'd worked hard to make it so. 

"Good morning," she said, as polite as ever, quickly attending to the melting wax, to seal her envelope. Yet another bit of correspondence, just to be certain. Just to press another token of trust out of someone inherently untrustworthy. It should have hit her then, that some of those who met that description were closer to home, and should have been checked on just as much, but it did not. 

"'S a rare sight, you up and working at this hour, hah," Prussia said, watching her quietly. She did every little thing with a slow precision; waited for the wax to harden slightly, carefully putting away the stick in the meanwhile, and then pressed her ring carefully in the dead centre of the scarlet puddle. Then she smoothed the paper over with her fingers, checked that it was sealed tight, and put it to one side, aligned exactly with the corner of her desk. It was calming. 

"I must attend to certain things as a matter of urgency," she said, turning to him finally; the door was close by, she could look him directly in the eye. Prussia looked...not tired, but troubled. Contrite, yes, but fidgety, eager to say something. It would be too much to hope that it was a sincere apology for his bothersome attitude, his pestering, his flippancy in the face of her very real problems. "What can I help you with?" 

"Ahh, Princess, don't say it like that," he said, slinking into the room, closing the door behind him. He didn't look for a seat, but dropped down to his haunches next to her, and put his hands in her lap; against her pale yellow dress, he was stark white. After a pause, she put her own hands over his, adorned and heavy with rings as they were, and they passed a silent moment like that, his eyes downcast, and hers regarding him tiredly. 

"Listen- " he started, finally, looking up, but Austria shook her head. 

"Yes, yes," she said, with a sigh, and she gave him a look of absolute exasperation, but she took hold of his chin in a fond way. He smiled at her, eyes boyishly bright. Austria could never give him her leniency, her promises, her support as he wanted it- as he wanted in his official capacity- but in person, she could afford the mistake. Perhaps less than before, however. It was inevitable, she was realising, that relationships faltered in the face of her duty, and her truest desires. She wasn't a person. She was a state above states. 

But it would be all right, if he was obedient, and weathered this turbulence with her. And if he didn't- 

"Say, Princess, I know you're busy," Prussia said, cutting through her thoughts, his fingers crawling and curling between hers, "but you've got time for me, right?" 

"Time for _what,_ precisely, Preußen?" She let him play with her hands and thumb the smooth stones of her rings, in her head already considering whether or not she was in the mood for a distraction, of the kind that took place over her desk. "I am not sure I am in the correct frame of mind for..." 

"Oh, no, nono," he said, instantly, and that rather surprised her. "I wanted to talk to you, is all- about, ah- well, Bran was gonna do it, but you know how he's been lately, he only gets outta bed to go fuckin' schmooze with industrialists or go to some party, he's still fuckin' pissed at me- " 

"Yes, so I gather from his letters," Austria said, lightly, and Prussia made a face. Brandenburg had regaled her with quite some tales of Prussia's ineptitude, his letters gradually leaving professionalism behind in favour of airing personal grievances; she felt sorry for him, sorry to lose a statesman like him as her main point of contact in the electorate, but she couldn't do anything to preserve his position. When a man is given a choice between styling himself king or elector, it is clear what he will choose. She still thought of Brandenburg as an odd confidant, a loyal man in spirit- but she could no longer do anything but commiserate with him. At least until the time came that she needed his vote in the Imperial Diet...but then he wouldn't have a choice, would he, if Prussia spoke for him? 

"Well, anyway, I thought I should remind you- uh- you know, about uh, Jülich- " 

Then again, Prussia's capacity to speak for anyone was limited. 

"What are you talking about?" Austria asked, an eyebrow raised; oh, she knew the _name._ A petty little duchy, or collection of duchies rather, bandied about between herself and Brandenburg and the Palatinate and probably some others she didn't even care to recall, over a century prior. Like a prophetic microcosm of the problems she was skating dangerously close to- too many territories, not enough heirs, with a religious schism casting a pall over the whole thing. But the point was that she didn't want to talk about it. 

"You know," Prussia insisted, hopefully. "Jülich-Berg, we talked about it, I wanted- _Brandenburg_ wanted to, er, pursue his claim there, and you said- " 

"Oh, that," said Austria, flatly, and Prussia nodded eagerly. "Well, it is difficult." 

"Eh? Why?" The hope in his face slowly drained away, and he frowned. No doubt he'd expected her to immediately remember whatever she had suggested to him in the past, and just as immediately sign away one of her bargaining chips, just because he wanted it. Every piece of territory mattered, every small dispute could spark disaster. Brandenburg-Prussia, scattered land as it was, did not urgently need concessions, and that place was tied up with Bavaria, the Wittelsbachs- "You _said,_ since we supported your little queen- you said you'd- " 

"I said I would keep your interests in mind, yes," Austria said, patiently, but she subtly pushed him from her lap, standing up and sweeping from her desk to look through the folders on a shelf; she couldn't let him distract her, it was critical that all her affairs were in order should something _unpleasant_ come to pass. Behind her, she heard Prussia get to his feet, a mass of confusion and frustrated energy. "Preußen, I haven't time to negotiate very minor land disputes just now, you must see that." 

It didn't have the effect she was hoping for, this plea to his understanding. It was as though he'd only heard one word, and his voice was full of distaste for it. " _Minor?_ " 

"Yes, minor," Austria snapped, turning on her heel, to see him grimacing at her. "Do you think it is a priority, deciding where the Palatinate's castoffs go, right this minute? My treasury is practically empty, my soldiers are deserting, Osmane has just come back from the dead to menace me again- are you _listening?_ " 

"Maybe you shouldn't spread yourself so thin, if you can't fuckin' handle it," Prussia said, unsympathetic, as if he were some great power with a string of successes to his name, and not a handful of poor provinces, whose entire population joined the army just because there was nothing else to do in his lands. "If you're gonna fuckin' renege every time I help you, then I'm- " 

" _What?_ " She was losing all sense of patience with him. Every entitled request, every provocation of Hungary, every self-interested, arrogant remark, they bled through the facade of his affection for her like so much red wax oozing out from under her ring. He had a lot of _front,_ to even begin to make threats, when he and Brandenburg before him had begged and capered for her favour for so long. "What are you going to do, Preußen?" 

He was silent, furious, his teeth gritted, perhaps in a last-ditch attempt to avoid saying something regrettable. Then he wrenched open the office door. 

"I'm goin' home!" he declared, his voice rough with his petulant anger. 

"Be my guest," Austria snarled. Prussia gave her a burning look, his expression strikingly dark on his pale features, and then he stormed out of the door and down the hall. She followed him to the doorway, watching him stomp down the corridor in almost comical fashion, the sound of his heavy boots nearly drowned out by loud ranting to himself. 

"Fuck this! I may as well've fuckin' stayed home and let Bran do whatever the hell he wanted for the next fifty years! Which is _nothing!_ We're never gonna get anywhere! No damn respect! Fucking...Habsburgs!" 

His voice trailed away in echoes as he left, startling servants and one aggravated feline, if the noises were anything to go by. Austria stared at the space he'd vacated, her face screwing up in simmering rage and her mind suddenly filled with all the retorts she wished she'd given him, including a good slap- she retreated back into her office with a resounding slam of her door, and she hoped he heard it. It was all he was going to hear if he set foot in her palace again any time soon. 

\- 

Returning to Vienna was the last thing on Prussia's mind. Well, the first, until he forcibly pushed it down every time it appeared. He was making a point. Punishing Austria with the lack of his presence, just as he had been punished so often in the past with isolation, with Brandenburg walking out on him in anger. 

The problem _was_ that she apparently didn't care one wit, and the realisation eventually manifested in his head that Austria was not an isolated person- by design, as far as he could tell. He struggled with the finer points of diplomacy, but Austria excelled at it, and all her life she had been surrounded. 

But to be _surrounded_ was not always a good, or safe, thing. Deep down in his heart, Prussia wanted nothing more than to return to her and have her think highly of him- and that was why she tongue-tied him, why he couldn't threaten her to her face, although he preferred to think it was good sense that stopped him. It was just that _deep down in his heart_ was a difficult place for him to reach or understand, and boiling all over his very surface like an angry sea was the desire to lash out at her. To really make a point. 

It was a coincidence (was it?) that there were some within his house who felt similarly. Too long had Habsburg hegemony galled Prussian pride. The crown prince, Friedrich, seemed consumed with a very personal rejection of all they stood for- not their power or their lands, but their meddling. He had been saddled with a wife he did not want, and endured the tyranny of a father who seemed to him weak in the face of Imperial, Austrian orders. None of this- not Friedrich's unique temperament nor his father's- was actually Austria's fault, and Prussia knew this, he knew how flawed his princes were. But the feeling resonated with him. 

The king was far beyond revenge or rebellion, though at the last, he seemed to develop an odd warmth for his son, a trust- _there is the man who will avenge me..._ Prussia watched this handover, and all the death throes of an era, with a sort of detachment. He had never liked the man. But he had appreciated him. Friedrich Wilhelm had cared for the state, protected it and its assets fiercely, even if that meant acting with turtle-like refusal of opportunity. Conversely, his successor had done nothing in his short life but refuse Prussia. There was a time, not long before, when Prussia had felt trepidation at the thought of this boy receiving such a great inheritance, stored carefully for the proverbial winter, thinking him likely to blow it on French wine and young men. 

But on his father's death, something changed. Whether some mystical acceptance of a king ordained by divine right, or a convenient change of heart and alliance of interests, Prussia felt differently. He met the ascendant prince's eyes across the body of the old king, and it was like they understood each other, for the first time. 

It surprised many when Austria's archduke, the Emperor, already spiralling into near-bankruptcy and unpopular in Vienna, died suddenly, apparently from unwise decisions made in the presence of wild mushrooms; Prussia wondered if he'd done it himself. Or if someone had done it for him. It surprised the government in Prussia even more when the new king seized on the opportunity. Not to contest the ascension of Austria's favourite little daughter, no- though Prussia thought he'd be perfectly justified, given the complete disregard Austria had shown for his acceptance, all promise of reward forgotten. 

No, it was a cleverer plot than that. Austria was _surrounded,_ and whatever they'd told her, they'd all be ready to pounce in a matter of weeks, ready to rip her to shreds. It was cruel and unfair, but that's what happened when you were incredibly miserly with territory. Poland and Saxony, united under that king Austria herself had had installed, would be eyeing lands far too close to Prussia's own for his comfort; better that he got to them first. He wouldn't be a Polish fief again. 

And he wouldn't betray Austria- in so many words. He would protect her. If she let him keep what he was about to take. Blackmail? No, business. 

\- 

Brandenburg tried to stop him. 

"It's been _days,_ " he hissed, catching Prussia in a quiet corner of the palace, while all about them plans appeared and fears flew; the king's advisors were trying the same spiel, to no avail. "Why would you do this now? Why even send a request if you're just going to act before she can answer?" 

"Because she's never gonna fucking say yes," Prussia responded, his voice a harsh whisper out of whatever shred of respect he still had for his brother and erstwhile guardian. "You know that, Bran! Jesus Christ, you don't still trust her? It was your fucking claim we were after!" 

"She's rejected my claim to Silesia for centuries," Brandenburg said, infuriatingly calm about it. "Things change- you can't just dig up an old title years down the line and expect to have it handed to you!" 

"Why not?! Everyone else is doing it! They're all about to fuckin' do exactly that! Listen, we've got the right- we've got the fuckin' means- have you seen the state of her army?" Prussia's voice rose and his face lit up as he spoke, the cogs in his brain turning on overdrive, convincing him, always convincing himself. Whatever he felt for Austria- because he did, under the mood that had struck him- it was immaterial, this was his chance. He didn't give a single fuck about Salic law or Bohemia or anything. He didn't care about Austria's struggles, for good or ill. He'd seized on one thing, one thing only, the rich province of Silesia- not because of his right to it, not because of the money, not even truly for Friedrich's reasons of waylaying Austria, Russia, Poland, anyone. Not even for the sake of protecting himself. He wanted it because it was hers, and she'd have to cede it to him or watch him take it, and there was no way she could ignore him. 

Brandenburg looked at him like he'd come under some devilry, like he was out of his mind. 

"You're being too hasty," he said, calm words, dangerous tone. That was his _modus operandii,_ next thing he'd be whipping out the birch rod, not that he'd ever really been man enough to make good on the threats. He was a kind soul, to his detriment. "Wait for her response, you can't just make illegal marches- " 

"Can't I?" Prussia's mania only seemed to grow with the weak objections, vibrant behind his pale red eyes. His army was eighty-thousand strong and ready to move, the old king had been good for something. "What's the harm, Bran? She's gonna be fuckin' overwhelmed on every front soon enough, she'll be on her knees thankin' me for coming to her rescue. Better I'm already in position, right?" 

Brandenburg made an irritated sound with his tongue, his long black ponytail whipping around as he paced in frustration. "You can't be serious. For God's sake- who do you think you're talking about?" 

Prussia didn't respond for a moment, parsing that. Who did he think he was talking about? The jewel in the Imperial crown, prideful to her last breath? Or his lover? _Former_ lover, a little voice in his brain told him, quietly. Yes, probably. Former. 

Unless his plan worked, and she agreed and let him defend her and everything came up roses. That was possible. Young Fritz didn't think so, but he didn't know a damn thing about them. He didn't even like his wife, what would he know. 

Prussia smiled, and it felt like his mind was clearing. 

"Bran," he said, almost cheerful. "Listen, relax. Worst comes to worst we'll get chased off with nothin' much, Christ knows we're used to that. The Princess ain't in a position to fucking argue with me, let alone take me on with Frankreich at her door." 

"I can't believe you," Brandenburg replied, and now he was just being childish. "This isn't right." 

"Jesus, let go of this conscience shit you're always bangin' on about! She's kept _you_ down for years, for fuck's sake!" If Brandenburg was objecting on a personal basis, Prussia didn't want to hear it. It wasn't his business. It didn't _matter._ It was a little dispute, a little business. If he'd spared more time to think of Austria's _feelings,_ he would've come away completely certain she couldn't care less. How could she, when she did this all the time? Seized land. Crushed rebellion. "We'll be makin' a point. We're not goin' any further than Silesia, don't panic so damn much! I'm not gonna march on Vienna!" 

"So you say, little brother, until you get carried away," Brandenburg said, insistently, and Prussia's eyebrows knit together with annoyance. Little brother, he was sick of hearing that. 

"Hah...so you acknowledge I've got the capabilities to do it, _big brother?_ " he said, a humourless grin twisting his mouth. "It's about fucking time." 

That seemed a good line to leave on, and Prussia turned his back on his brother, resolve hardened beyond the reach of the most pointed objection. He would have left, had Brandenburg not followed him in two long-legged strides, his hand firmly grabbing Prussia's arm and yanking him back- it pulled him off-balance and drew from him an irritated grunt, but he'd grown so much over the years that it was no longer enough to stop him. 

"I'm not finished speaking to you- " 

"Oh? I'm finished with _you,_ " Prussia sneered, and he roughly pulled his arm from Brandenburg's grip, harder than he needed to, and more easily than he had ever done before. The look on Brandenburg's face, for the briefest moment, sent the shock of a hit nerve through Prussia, all his hair standing on end. 

"I'm going," he said, ignoring it, and he did, leaving his brother standing there, stunned. Something had changed. 

"Preußen- _Preußen!_ " 

"Come catch up to me if you feel like it, Bran, maybe there'll be somethin' left for you to do!" Prussia laughed to himself as he made his way out, his sharp new uniform flashing with the splendour of silver and the malice of steel. 

\- 

They'd been expecting something to happen. Austria's eyes had been fixed in the direction of the Bourbons, a glance spared back to the disgruntled Bavaria and Saxony- but so occupied, Prussia's increasing untrustworthiness had been pushed to the back of the queue. 

So when she got word, last minute, of his intentions- _questionably_ legal, unquestionably unscrupulous- it was all she could do to send a paltry reinforcement to Silesia and curse his name. Hungary, seething with a righteous indignation (as if he'd never invaded anything or anyone in his life), swiftly regained his composure at the sight of her; his anger was hardly remarkable, while her fury broke the surface as a great leviathan breaks still waters. _Irritation_ was Austria's forte, but this was something else. 

"Traitorous bastard," she snarled, her fingernails catching in the wood-grain of her desk as she gripped it. Hungary watched her with caution- to stoke this fire would be unhealthy, to try and quell it would be suicidal. She had already dismissed a justifiably aggrieved Bohemia- Prussia cavorting over _her_ borders, after all- for approaching her with a little too much self-confidence. 

Still, it took a lot out of Hungary, not responding that Prussia couldn't be a traitor because he had never really been loyal. From the minute he petitioned for a royal title, _just_ outside Austria's authority, a quirky little loophole, Hungary knew. It was the exact opposite path he'd taken as a kingdom, being folded into Austria's life neatly, one crown, no layers of bureaucracy. Layers of bullshit. Not really, not even the Diet. Whether he would've taken the same option as Prussia if it had been available to him at the time, who knew, but it struck him now as low, beneath his dignity. Prussia wasn't a kingdom, he was a robber baron. An extortionist. No one was less surprised than Hungary, at the turn this former band of brigands had taken. He'd been dressed up as something else for years, by Poland and Brandenburg and even Austria. Even Austria had fucked up. 

He forgave her, though, against better judgement, because now she would suffer for it. He watched her clatter around her office with a painful kind of sympathy. Like the young woman left with a dead father and a vacant throne, Austria was destitute in her magnificent palace. She'd set herself up as Hungary's liege lord, but she evoked nothing so much as pity, her eyes sleepless, her hair hastily dressed, wearing no jewels or rouge. This face, she'd rather die than let the world see. 

"Frankreich will be next," she was muttering, not really to Hungary. "I wonder if they have an arrangement." 

She paused with her back to him by the window, the deep black-cherry colour of her gown making her look like an inked silhouette against the light. Then she slammed the flat of her palm down suddenly against a small table, making it shudder, the utensils resting on it rocking in the storm. 

"Ausztria," Hungary ventured, and she immediately snatched her hand up, her fist clutched tight to her body as she turned. 

"No matter," she said, bitterly, and her look to him was fierce. "A good hostess can accommodate one more unexpected guest." 

Hungary had once rejected all possibility of a reigning queen. Austria, he realised, had been waiting for hers all her life. That ferocity in the face of denial. The _right_ to _rule._

He stood up straighter, his plain green jacket taking on the air of military colours. 

"I think I can accommodate him for you, duchess." The lift of her dark expression was slight, but it struck Hungary like a thin column of sun through the clouds, and made him smile, in spite of all they were facing. "Accommodate his ass right out the door and back into the gutter, I'd say. If you'll excuse my language." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was originally going to have this chapter contain the silesian wars (that is the war of austrian succession & the seven years' war of canon fame), but they need their own chapter. so this one is reasonably sized again. stay tuned for a whole lot of arguing.

**Author's Note:**

> history buffs will spot a lot of references throughout (really good history buffs will call me out on my fuckups). i won't be dating any segment of this fic super specifically, nor will i elaborate too much on each and every historical reference, but i will provide a rough idea in the notes here.


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